


The Crown Prince and the Beast

by triedunture



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Face-Fucking, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Forced Marriage, Hair-pulling, Hurt Thor (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Intersex Loki (Marvel), Jotunn Loki (Marvel), M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Virgin Loki (Marvel), Wet & Messy, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-06-09 12:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 97,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15267873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: The marriage of the Princes had been brokered by the Allfather and Laufey, the leader of the Jotun, who are called Frost Giants by the Asgardians. The two Kings had long been at war with each other, but after an unusually bloody battle where both lost over half their respective armies, they agreed that the time had come to end the conflict. After a dreary, protracted period of negotiation, it was decided that the two Princes, both of whom were disappointments to their fathers, should be wed, thus ushering in a tentative peace between the two worlds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, if you're a person who deals with a lot of racism or anti-Semitism and you don't feel like reading about that stuff in your fic, this might not be great for you. Just a heads up. 
> 
> Also a note on the "threat of rape" tag: as part of the arranged marriage that threat exists but is soon dispelled. 
> 
> Okay. Enjoy!

It started with a wedding.

Most fairy tales end with a wedding, don't they? It's only natural, after all, to end on a happy note, and weddings are generally regarded as a happy occasion. But not this wedding. Not this tale. Avert your eyes, those of you looking for a sweet and gentle story. You will not find what you seek here. Unless you relish pain and hardship, do yourself a kindness. Find another way to amuse yourself.

Now where were we?

Oh, yes.

At a wedding—that of Prince Thor Odinson, second child of the King of Asgard, to the Crown Prince of Jotunheim, Loki the Small.

Come with me and I'll tell you the strange, sad story of this union.

On that day, Loki stood just without the Great Hall of Asgard, an imposing spot with its massive doors of hammered gold glinting in the fierce brightness of a yellow sun. Despite the light slanting through the narrow windows, Loki shivered. He'd been dressed in a very brief costume consisting of a leather loincloth, a fur stole, and not much else, and the draft in the vestibule chilled him to his very bones. His jet black hair hung in his face where it usually would be combed back neatly. At his wrists and ankles clinked thin golden bangles, and at his throat sat another band of finely wrought gold. These trinkets were not of his choosing; they had been clapped on him by Aesir guards the moment he'd been apprehended on Jotunheim. The gold bands were no mere ornaments, Loki soon discovered. They robbed him of his magical prowess, leaving him defenseless against the Asgardians who would soon force him to wed their Prince.

For this wedding was not the product of love, no. It was something else entirely. Again, I say go away from this tale if the prospect of heartbreak and horror upsets your sensibilities—as well it should.

Are you still with me?

Fine. We continue.

The marriage of the Princes had been brokered by the Allfather and Laufey, the leader of the Jotun, who are called Frost Giants by the Asgardians. (Loki the Small was small only by the measure of his people, who most often stood at ten or twelve feet as opposed to Loki's six, hence the nickname he could never shake.) The two Kings had long been at war with each other, but after an unusually bloody battle where both lost over half their respective armies, they agreed that the time had come to end the conflict. After a dreary, protracted period of negotiation, it was decided that the two Princes, both of whom were disappointments to their fathers, should be wed, thus ushering in a tentative peace between the two worlds.

No one had asked for Loki's opinion on the matter, and indeed the shape of the negotiations was hidden from him until the fatal moment when he was met by the enemy and taken captive. He could still hear his own screams for help ringing through the cavernous halls of his palace; he could still see the icy mask of Laufey's face as he watched his firstborn being dragged away.

"Don't whimper so," his father had said over his shouts. "At least now you will be of some use. Be glad you are serving Jotunheim, Loki, and cease your struggles."

Even knowing he was abandoned and alone, even knowing that it was useless, Loki had fought, earning himself a bloodied mouth for his troubles when an Asgardian warrior bludgeoned him with the butt of his spear to keep him quiet. It was in this scuffle that his hair was mussed, his magics sapped from him by the strange gold bands, and his clothing ripped from his body. He'd reeled, unable to comprehend the swiftness with which his princely life had been stripped from him like so many silks and furs, until at last a many-hued light enveloped him and his captors, and he was borne by the Bifrost to a land he'd only read about in stories: Asgard, a place peopled by vicious creatures who lived and died by their bloodlust.

Now awaiting his fate as an unwilling bridegroom, Loki could see his reflection in the Great Hall's golden door. The blood had been wiped away from the corner of his mouth but a purple bruise now marred his cobalt skin. His eyes, usually a pleasant crimson shade that he'd always thought his best feature, were pink from his tears. The few bits of clothing that he'd been forced into by a pair of silent servants just minutes before hung crookedly on his slim hips and shaking shoulders. He looked as miserable as he felt in his heart.

And yet, beneath the pain simmered a terrible anger—a rage at his father, who had traded him like one would a parcel of land; at his country, which had snatched from him the throne that was to be his destiny; at Asgard, a kingdom of stunted, cruel brutes; at Odin their King, his lifelong enemy; and finally at the Odinson, the beast that was to be his husband.

In his private thoughts, Loki vowed revenge on every last one. He had been branded a weakling all his life but now, cast out of his home and stranded among his enemies, he would prove just how powerful he could be.

If he could only slip free of the thrice-damned cuffs and collar!

He tugged at one of the slim bracelets encircling his wrist but it was as hopeless as the first dozen times he'd tried to escape its snare. A guard stationed at the door noticed his struggles and laughed cruelly at the sight. No attempt was made to stop him from the desperate enterprise.

"It's time," another guard drawled, squinting at the sun. His spear angled in Loki's direction, an idle reminder that he could be run through at any moment.

Loki added the guards to his mental list of recipients of his vengeance.  

The sun-burnished doors were flung open by some unseen hand and Loki found himself at the mouth of a hall lined with a thousand Asgardians, standing ready as the sharpest of fangs. They watched him with their strange white eyes and tittered behind their cupped fingers, which were dripping in rings and precious stones. Far in the distance stood a great altar draped in a blood-spattered cloth and bearing the carcass of some horned animal that Loki did not recognize. Its tongue lolled from its dead mouth, its eyes a glassy black.

Loki recoiled, wondering if perhaps the promised marriage was a ruse, and he was to join the creature on its deathbed as another sacrifice to some lusty war-god.

The tip of a spear prodded him in his back. "Move," a guard grunted.

Loki moved.

His cold, bare feet carried him across the flagstones of the Great Hall towards the felled animal. The crowd flanked him on either side, preventing any thought of escape. He could smell the tang of blood in the air, could hear the whispers of the Aesir as he walked. But in spite of everything that had befallen him, Loki was still a Prince of Jotunheim, and he carried himself with his head held high. If these savages were to murder him, so be it. He would not be cowed by such displays.

As he neared the altar, Loki noticed one of the Aesir standing apart from the crowd. He was tall—by Asgard's standards, at least, standing a few inches taller than Loki. His ugly golden hair was worn in knots according to his people's custom. He was dressed in armor as were most of the people in attendance, but his raiment included a cloak of red draped about his shoulders. On his chest and torso were inlaid many circles of silver, medals, perhaps, denoting the number of lives he'd taken on the battlefield. His face was covered in coarse hair all along his cheeks and chin—a practice Loki could neither understand nor approve.

So this was the beast of Asgard, the Odinson, the warrior-prince who would be his husband.

Loki suppressed his shudder. He was determined not to show any fear in the face of this ordeal. His regal bearing would not crumble under this strain; he swore it to his favored Gods. He tipped his chin upward as he took his place at the Odinson's side. He did not deign to glance at him even when the weight of the other Prince's gaze settled heavy upon his body. Oh, how Loki wanted to cover himself! The humiliation of standing half-naked before these brutes could not be borne. And yet, Loki had no choice but to bear it.

The Allfather himself appeared behind the altar with its gruesome offering, hands outstretched. He wore a crown of intricate gold set with a hundred glittering stones as well as an eyepatch of the same. Loki swallowed his distaste at the ostentatious show of wealth; though Laufey had many failings, he at least never draped himself in such gaudy baubles.

"We have all prayed for this day," said the Allfather.

Loki seethed. _He_ certainly hadn't.

"Prayed," continued the King, "for an end to the war with Jotunheim. No longer will our sons' deaths, however glorious, take place on that distant, icy shore. Today the Prince of Asgard, Thor Odinson, God of Thunder—" Here he leveled a strange look at his son, which Loki noted with interest though he knew not what it could mean. "—will take as his consort the one called Loki the Small, Crown Prince of the Jotun, firstborn of Laufey. May this handfasting bind them together as the new peace accord binds our kingdoms."

Odin then produced from his cloak a thick silver cord and stepped around the carcass-laden altar. Loki watched, silent and seething, as the King approached. He had heard of this tradition among the Aesir and knew it was only a symbolic gesture, yet he hated the thought of being bound to his new husband, however temporarily.

"Take your intended's hand," Odin ordered his son, quiet enough that only the two of them heard, firm enough that they couldn't pretend to have missed it.

Loki stared straight ahead as he felt his hand grabbed up in the chapped, square paw of Thor Odinson. He forced his fingers to be perfectly limp in that horrible grasp, not a tremor to betray him. Odin wrapped their hands and wrists, tying the cord into a solid knot atop their joined fingers.

"It is done," the King announced, and Loki's heart broke to hear the crowd of Asgardians roar their approval at his capture.

Do not weep, he told himself. They only think they've bested you. Bide your time. Slip the knife into their ribs when they least expect it.

The Aesir Prince turned to face the assembly, dragging Loki in a half-circle as he moved. Loki nearly stumbled, but the Odinson used their clasped hands to right him. It was only then that their gazes met, an instinctual glance that couldn't be helped. The brute's eyes contained points of blue within them, an unsettling color that reminded Loki of ice during a false spring.

"Find your feet, Jotun," said the Odinson under his breath. "And do it with haste."

"I will not answer to anything but Crown Prince from you," Loki hissed in return. Heat flooded his cheeks as he bit his tongue; he wanted nothing more than to berate the Odinson for yanking him about in the first place, but he knew it would do him no good. He was alone in a sea of tormentors. Any one of them might tear out his throat at even the slightest provocation.

The beast did not answer him, only grunted and tugged him along through the crowd of well-wishers. Servants poured from doorways with trays of food and drink. No tables for this feast, then. Loki watched in disgust as the Aesir nobles, such as they were, ate their legs of mutton and swine ribs with their bare hands, tearing at the flesh with their teeth and letting the bones fall where they may. His new husband refused all offers of food but did grab a tankard from a passing tray, drinking the sickly sweet-smelling brew in huge gulps before dashing the tankard upon the flagstones, where it broke into a hundred shards.

Loki only just avoided stepping on the shards with his bare feet, dancing out of the way and upsetting the Odinson's balance as he did so. The brute yanked him back to his side as they continued to walk.

"You'd do well to stay close, Crown Prince," he said into Loki's ear.

Loki's nose wrinkled at the scent of drink on the Odinson's breath. He could see no reason not to keep his distance as far as their bound hands would allow him. Loki was about to tell the ruffian as much when their progress was arrested, their path blocked by a tall, dark figure.

He recognized her only from the stories that had been brought back from the battlefields of Jotunheim. This was the Death Goddess, Odin's firstborn, the one called Hela. She had led Asgard in that bloody battle that half-destroyed both armies, and from the look of her, she wasn't losing any sleep over it if her bright eyes were anything to go by.

Rumor had it that she'd murdered some of her own troops when they dared question her siege tactics. They said even her own men called her mad, and that her powers were such that no one dared stand against her madness. Loki froze as he regarded her there in the Hall. She wore light armor of green and black, her inky hair hanging in lank knots about her face, her mouth a cruel slash of a grin. Loki knew the sight well; it was the look of a rabid animal about to attack.

"What a happy day for our kingdom, brother," she said. "At last you are married, and all is well."

"So it is by the Gods' blessing," said Loki's horrible new husband. A foolish grin plastered itself across his furred face. He took up another tankard from a servant and quaffed it in four massive swallows.

Loki prepared to dodge, but this time the brute placed the empty vessel on a passing tray instead of dashing it upon the floor. Small favors, Loki thought with a scowl.

Hela continued, "It's only a shame that Mother isn't here to see you. How she would have loved to attend her only son's wedding." Her eyes at last slid to Loki, and Loki wished they hadn't. He felt flayed open by that stare, a piece of meat destined for her dinner plate. She clicked her tongue. "Though perhaps it's for the best that Mother did not live to see you wedded to _this._ "

How dare this unwashed Aesir speak of him like something bound for the ash can! If only one of his hands were free from the gold cuffs! As it was he could only stare at her with all the hatred in his heart, wishing her dead with just his eyes. She seemed to find this amusing, and laughed.

Her brother joined her in her mirth, his laughter booming throughout the hall. The Odinson then turned, forcing Loki into his shadow and blocking his sister from view. "If you'll pardon me, dear Hela," he said, "I should take my leave."

"Of course," said Odin, appearing suddenly through the crowd with a number of sycophants, all gazing at him as if he hung the suns in the sky. "You must be eager, after all, to give me a grandchild. Laufey swore to me it was possible, and I see no reason to delay the attempt."

The Allfather's retinue gave another cheer, raising their cups to the painted ceiling. Loki watched in dawning horror, then whipped his head around to stare at the Odinson's stupid, grinning face. Was he really expected to lie with this filthy brute? To bear his offspring? He felt a terrified numbness creep into his limbs. Perhaps he had been naive not to think of this before, but there had been so little time since his capture to understand the full ramifications of his forced marriage. He was to be treated as livestock, meant for breeding Aesir pups.

His hands trembled without his consent.

Remarkably, the Odinson clasped his hand where they were bound together and stopped his shaking in at least that limb. Loki looked at him, wondering at this gesture, but could find no clue as to its meaning in that blank, rugged face.

A member of the King's retinue spoke up, her words blurred in her drunkenness. "Is it true, then, Allfather? Do the Jotun men possess the parts of a lady as well? I thought it was merely a story."

"No, no, it's quite true, my dear," Odin assured her. "The Jotun are not men or women as we often are, but possess a quality rare among the Nine Realms. The majority of them are equipped to both sire _and_ bear children."

"How strange!" cried the courtier, though Loki did not see what was so strange about it. "This I must see." The ninny actually reached for the hem of his loincloth as if to expose him to her curious gaze.

Loki slapped her hand away, his eyes mere slits. The foul creature was lucky he did not have his magics at his disposal. She would have been nothing but a stain upon the flagstones for such an affront. But she only gasped horridly at Loki's reaction, as if he was the one at fault.

"I'm afraid," drawled the Odinson, "that the view you seek of my new consort is to be mine alone. And I've never been adept at sharing." He reeled Loki closer to his side.

Loki glared at him, glad to be further from the stranger's touch but unhappy to be so near this brute who thought he owned him.

"My son's impatience to uncover his prize reveals itself," Odin laughed, and his retinue joined in. The uncomfortable moment was forgotten by all save Loki, whose discomfort only grew.

The Odinson pulled Loki even closer until they were flush against each other. "If my father would excuse my hasty exit? I mean to put all my effort into getting my consort with child tonight. Several efforts, in fact."

"Ah, for once Thor wishes to fulfill his duty like a proper son," Hela mused, sipping at her tankard and staring over its rim. "I suppose as long as the task involves sticking his cock in something—"

Odin interrupted Hela's rude comment with a toast, raising his glass high and shouting above the heads of the assembled. "May the Norns see fit to give me a grandchild by winter! Skol!"

Amid the repeating cries of the crowd, Hela leaned in to whisper to her brother, close enough for Loki to also hear. "Let's just hope the Jotun can whelp a litter with your coloring, Thor."

"I bid you good evening, sister," was his only reply as he shouldered past, dragging Loki along behind him.

Loki could taste bile rising in his throat at the thought of being pinned under this savage Prince, a prisoner in his bed. Terror threatened to freeze his mind, but he fought through it. There had to be a way to defend himself from such brutality. In his desperation, Loki espied the hilt of a short knife hanging from the belt of one of the courtiers in the crowd. The fool that wore it was already drunk, red-faced and stumbling.

Loki had always possessed some skill at sleight of hand, and he used it now, plucking the little weapon from the Asgardian as he passed and holding it upright in his free hand, hidden beneath his forearm.

He feared the Odinson would take note—Loki was nearly naked and had no place to hide the thing—but luck was at last on his side. The brute barely glanced at him as they left the Great Hall and lumbered down the empty stone halls of the palace, the noise of the feast fading behind them. Loki took the opportunity to size up his opponent. They were of a height, but the Odinson was broader, composed of the thick muscle that his people revered so highly. However, he had drunk an awful lot in a short span of time, and Loki thought he detected a slight waver in his gait. Perhaps he could take the brute off guard and slice his throat open while he fumbled with the laces of his breeches.

But then what? Loki despaired at the sight of the solid stone walls closing them in on either side. The palace was more a fortress than anything, and what with the royal wedding, the guards were sure to be double or triple their usual number. Loki had no map of the place, no idea how he might escape into the city or the wilderness beyond. And even if he did get that far he would need clothing, money, a cowl to disguise his Jotun face, at least until he could find a smith to strike to the bands from his—

"Oof!" He practically bounced off the Odinson's broad back as he made an abrupt stop before an oaken door. Loki lifted his bound hand along with his captor's to rub at his sore nose. Now his thoughts were scattered, damn it all.

The Aesir, meanwhile, gave him only a glance over his shoulder before producing a key and unlocking the door.

"Your quarters, Crown Prince," he said in a rough, mocking voice, leading Loki inside by the hand.

The door slammed behind him. Loki resisted the urge to jump at the sound, so loud in the echoing room. His eyes roved along the walls of his new prison. It wasn't as spacious as his old rooms back home—no, not home, not any longer, he reminded himself—and it was cold, colder than any Jotun dwelling. There was an open slit of a window that looked out over a flowering courtyard, and a large bed raised in the Asgardian style above the floor like a stage. There were rugs of bearskin on the flagstones and lamps containing flickering tallow candles scattered about. And there was a fireplace, though it was filled with nothing but ashes.   

The Odinson turned their joined arms roughly and began picking at the knot that held them fast. Loki hid his stolen weapon behind his back. It was a silly little knife, clearly meant for ceremony, but Loki prayed its blade was sharp enough to do the deed. Those eerie blue eyes darted to his face, which Loki immediately schooled into what he hoped was a blank mask.

The Odinson questioned him with the same expression. "You do not fear me?"

"I have faced far worse than you," Loki lied. In fact, he had faced very little, all told. His life heretofore had been one of comfort, insulated as he was from the horrors of war due to his smallness and his rank. Though he had often begged his sire for the chance to prove his magical abilities on the battlefield, these requests had always been denied. Loki had never fought anything more dangerous than one of his carefully vetted sparring partners in the palace, but this callous ogre didn't need to know that.

If the Odinson suspected this to be bravado on Loki's part, he did not mention it. He only untied them and let the cord fall to the floor, shaking out his hand where it must have gone numb. He then turned his back on Loki and started toward a small table by the window, atop which sat a measure of wine in a glass pitcher as well as some goblets.

"Will you drink?" he asked.

"With you?" Loki snorted. "I don't think so." He readied his knife, taking it in his left hand (the one he favored) and creeping behind the Odinson.

"Fair." The Prince of Asgard poured himself a brimming cup of wine. "You may do as you like, of course, but I intend to get quite drunk tonight."

Oh, the thought of being taken by this awful creature! While deep in his cups, at that! No doubt the better to vent his animalistic desires. Loki pictured the Odinson slavering over his prone body, and he could bear it no longer. He struck out with his stolen knife—

And was shocked to see the Odinson turn as nimbly as a goat. His hand clamped around Loki's fine-boned wrist, arresting the knife's tip inches from his throat.

"I'll amend that," drawled the beast. "You may do as you like—so long as you leave my neck intact."  

"Savage!" Loki hissed in his bearded face. He tried desperately to drive the knife that scant inch or two forward but the Odinson had him in an unbreakable grip. "Release me!"

The Odinson's lips lifted in the smallest, cruelest smile. "Drop it," he said.

Loki stubbornly clutched the knife all the tighter.

"Drop. It," the beast repeated as if speaking to a child. He crushed Loki's wrist more and more until Loki felt the small bones grind together.

Loki tried to withstand it, but after a moment he let loose a little cry of pain and dropped the knife. It fell only a short distance before the Odinson caught it in his free hand. Only then did his hold on Loki relax.

"I'll need to keep this, you understand," he said, releasing Loki's wrist and tucking the knife in his own belt.

Loki whimpered as he cradled his arm against his bare chest. Bruises were already blooming where the golden bangle had dug into his skin. Tears sprang to his eyes but he refused to let them fall.

The brute gave a heavy sigh, gesturing to Loki's arm. "If you had done as I asked…."

"I won't submit to you," Loki said, daring to look up into those piercing, ice-bound eyes. "Never. I will fight to the last." His voice wavered only slightly. "Better to die than be an Aesir's plaything."

"You little blue fool! You—" The Odinson bit off his words and dropped his voice to a harsh whisper. "I have no intention of bedding you. Get that through your head." He turned back to his wineglass and downed the lot of it in one go.

Loki watched this, perplexed. "But you— Odin spoke of children—"

"It matters not what my father said. I have merely appeared to agree with this absurd peace accord." He turned back to the table with its wine and readied his glass once more. "It suits me for the moment to let my father and sister think I am preoccupied with my new consort. It gives me time to enact my plan."

"Plan?" Loki forgot his bruised wrist for the moment. "You have a plan? What is it?"

"At the moment? To get very drunk, as I've said." Thor turned to lean back against the table, lifting his glass to his lips. "You're certain you won't join me? We have many hours to fill. I cannot leave these quarters too swiftly. They will think I have not enjoyed my consort as thoroughly as I said I would."

Loki felt his cheeks heat. No doubt they were turning quite magenta. "Forget your enjoyment! Why would you deceive your fellow Asgardians in this?"

The Odinson wiped at his lips with the back of his hand. "A long story. It would go better with drink."

"I am not sharing a drink with you," Loki said. "Just tell me what I wish to know."

"All right. Let's see." He toyed with the wineglass, seeming to think on his next words. "The Allfather has been poisoned against me by my sister," said the Odinson, pouring out more wine. "For many years I was the favorite, but no longer. My sister Hela saw to that. She is jealous and mad with power, not fit to rule. She has orchestrated this latest thorn in my side." He gulped at his refilled glass and grimaced as it went down. "Father yearns for a grandchild, something my sister has no interest in providing, and so now that is my sole task." He stared into the depths of his glass. "I am nothing but the second child, safely squared away in a political match and kept far from the battlefield or the decisions of the realm."

Loki's eyes widened. "So you did not want this marriage either?"

Thor wiped his wine-wet mouth with the back of his arm and belched. "Gods, no. I am as unwilling as you. I merely had the good sense not to show it."

Loki's mind worked its machinations as he digested this news. Strange as it might be, the foul Odinson was possibly his only ally in the world at the moment. Perhaps he might even—

"Free me," he said, grabbing hold of the Odinson's arm before he could reach for the wine a third time. "Show me the way out of this castle and let me go. Then you will be rid of me."

The brute scoffed, shaking off Loki's hand and pouring the last dregs of wine. "Not possible," he said. "I need my sister to think everything is going according to her own plan. This way, she will not suspect it when I strike."

"What do you mean, strike?" Loki asked.

The Prince leveled a look at him. "You will forgive me if I do not trust a captive Jotun with all my secrets." He looked deep into his cup and murmured, "I cannot let you leave, not yet. And even if I could, where would you go? Jotunheim would not have you."

Loki looked down, blinking rapidly. The brute was right. Even his own people, his own blood, had abandoned him here among wolves. He swayed on his feet, groping for the edge of the wide bed and sitting heavily upon its edge. His hands lay useless in his barely covered lap, the gold bands glinting on his wrists.

He would not let his tears fall. What good would they do?

"You may need me as a prop for your own purposes," he said in a low, hard voice, "but I will still fight my captivity at every step. I can't just submit to these circumstances." His eyes darted to the Odinson's inscrutable face. "I don't expect you to understand."

"But I do, Crown Prince," came the even lower answer. "You may not believe me when I say it, but I would not wish this fate on anyone, even you, my sworn enemy."

Loki looked him up and down. "You're right," he said. "I don't believe you." Everyone knew that Asgardians were ruled by their bloodlust and sick appetites. That this drunken oaf claimed to feel anything else was laughable.

The Odinson's lips lifted again in a near-smile. "Your tongue is your most honed weapon, I see. I did not imagine you would be so quick-witted."

Loki looked away and did not reply. Compliments from that corner meant nothing. Acknowledging one would only encourage the brute to make more clumsy attempts at chatter. He shivered at the thought—and because of the chill of the room.

The Odinson looked down at him as he finished his wine, a frown twisting his wet mouth. "Why do you shiver?" he asked.

"It's freezing in here," Loki said, "and I am wearing next to nothing." He rubbed at his arms to try and instill some warmth in them, but it was no use. His teeth chattered. He caught the Odinson's stare and snapped, "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"A Jotun should relish the cold," he said. "Is your home not covered in snow and ice nearly all the year?"

"Isn't most of your world covered in water?" Loki returned. "Shouldn't you live below the surface and breathe through gills? Honestly, Odinson, of all the fatheaded—"

"But your raiment!" the brute protested. "It is your custom, is it not, to wear so little? Surely you should be used to the cold dressed like that." Thor gestured to Loki's naked chest, nipples tight as buds in the chill air.

Loki tugged at his ragged fur stole, trying to cover himself with its short length. "These aren't my clothes! I was shoved into them before the wedding!"

"But it's the dress of your people."

"This poor approximation of battle dress?" Loki's temper reached its limit. "Battle dress is only for warriors going to the front lines! Only to intimidate our frail enemies who've never lived through a true winter! Normally we wear tunics and breeches just as you do, you ridiculous lump of excrement!"

The Odinson's mouth hung open, and Loki held his breath. It occurred that perhaps no one had ever dared insult the Prince of Asgard so thoroughly to his face. Despite their tentative truce, Loki wondered if the scoundrel would break his neck for the barb.

But the beastly Prince merely drained the last of his drink and sighed. "I...owe you an apology," he said in a tone that sounded like the words pained him to say.

"Only one?" Loki muttered.

The Odinson continued as if he hadn't heard. "It was I who ordered the servants to prepare your quarters in this manner, to leave the grate empty and to prop open the window to catch a cool breeze. And I was the one who chose your wedding clothes. I thought this would provide you with some small comfort—that is, something familiar." He looked away at the window, his thick throat working as he swallowed. "I didn't realize how mistaken I was."

Loki knew not what to say. Finally he found his tongue and managed, "You wished to comfort me, Odinson?"

"Thor," said the Prince, still not meeting his eyes. "Call me Thor if it pleases you."

"It doesn't," Loki said flatly. "Nothing does, especially thoughtless gestures." He smoothed out the little loincloth over his lap and resolutely looked out the window instead of Thor's face.

"Of course not, Crown Prince." Thor peered into the bottom of his glass as if seeking some last drop of wine. Then, apparently deciding there was none to be found, he put the glass aside and crouched down in front of the grate to build a fire.

Loki watched his captor—or perhaps fellow prisoner—coax the kindling into flame. With a start, he realized he'd need to learn that skill now that he had no magic. One of the first spells he'd ever mastered was that of fire-calling; the handling of flints was beyond him.

"There," Thor said once the logs were crackling nicely. He stood and wiped his hands on his breeches. "It should warm up in a moment. Take this, please." He unwound the strange red cloak from his shoulders and held it out in his hand.

Loki wrinkled his nose at the dingy thing. "Oh, really. That's not necessary." To accept it would be a even more intimate than sharing a drink.

"You would rather sit there shivering?" Thor snorted and tossed the thing on the foot of the bed beside Loki. "It's your decision, I suppose," he said, rolling his huge shoulders.

Loki did consider ignoring the cloak, but his discomfort won out at last, and he picked it up and wrapped it about his shaking shoulders. The cloak carried the strong odor of Asgardian skin, something acrid and earthy. It wasn't an altogether pleasant smell but at the same time, Loki could not help sniffing it out in an attempt to identify all its strange parts. And the thing was quite warm.

"I will have my man bring you new clothes on the morrow. Ones that are not so scant." Thor hovered at the edge of the bed. "For now, this is the least I can—" He stopped and tipped his head to the side, then cupped Loki's cheek in his rough palm.

Loki balked, tossing his head free of the touch. "If you would please!" he gasped. "Keep your hands to yourself."

"But there's—" The scent of wine-heavy breath washed over Loki. He gestured to the corner of his own mouth. "Did someone strike you there?"

Loki lifted his fingertips and brushed the bruise that still ached on his face. He'd nearly forgotten. "Your guards," he said, "when I resisted capture."

"They should not have done that," Thor rumbled. "Their orders were to treat you well."

"How well could I have been treated while being ripped from my homeland?" Loki sniffed and turned away. He would not let this knave see how pink his eyes had become with unshed tears.

Thor seemed to have nothing to say to that, so he took himself away from the bed and stalked over to the fireplace, where he sat upon a bearskin and stared into the flames. What right did he have to look so defeated? Loki decided the Odinson was the most horrible creature he'd ever met in his admittedly cloistered life. He was a drunk, and he smelled, and his ugliness extended to both body and spirit.

Loki spared him a glance and said, "What will you do for the rest of the night now that you've guzzled all the wine?"

"You underestimate me, Crown Prince," Thor murmured and took from his belt a small metal flask. He uncapped the thing and drank deeply.

Loki rolled his eyes. An absolute animal.

The liquor in the flask must have been the burning kind, for Thor swallowed with a loud groan of pain. He turned his shaggy head and stared up at Loki where he perched on the bed. His eyes dragged from the tips of his toes to his raven locks. Loki withstood his gaze for only a few moments before snapping.

"Why do you keep staring at me?"

"No reason," the Odinson said, drinking more as he spoke. "It's only taking some getting used to. The sight of a Jotun in my own home…."

Yes, it was strange, two mortal enemies sitting quietly in a bedroom. Loki thought on this, his hands itching to be free. "I could shapeshift into another form, of course, one that would be more pleasing to your low tastes. You'd need only release me from these bonds." He jangled the gold bands that encircled his wrists. It was a long shot; despite his stunted intelligence, Thor probably knew better than to unleash Loki's power.

Thor gave him a rueful smile before he sipped again at his flask. "My sister fashioned those bindings, unfortunately, and the only key is with her. They are wards against your magic, are they not? Hela must think you a powerful warlock indeed." He looked doubtful as he sized up Loki. "But she is mad and often sees threats where none exist."

"In this, at least, your sister is right. I'm more dangerous then you realize, Odinson," Loki said with self-righteous heat.

"Really?" Thor squinted at him as if trying to picture it. "I've never heard tell of Jotun magic before. If it's truly a threat, why does it not feature in tales from the battlefield?"

Loki tucked his feet up under the red cloak, arranging the hem of it to cover him fully. "Most Jotun have some little magical ability, but then again, most Jotun tower above you. They do not rely on it when they have their strength. I cultivated my powers to make up for my smallness, and I assure you, they are formidable."

"Ah. Like when a blind man's ears become sharper for the loss of his sight," Thor said with a nod. He then stopped and shook his head. "Talking to a Jotun about magic. Not how I thought my wedding night would go," he said, half to himself, half to the mouth of his flask as he drank.

Loki gave a bitter little laugh. His people did not wed each other as Asgardians did, but he could imagine the sorts of things one might look forward to on such a night: a lover's happy embrace, a warm bed, the hope for children….

He looked over the bed with its snowy white bedclothes and frowned, drawing the red cloak more tightly around his shoulders.

"Odinson—" he began.

"Thor, if you would."

"I won't," he said automatically. Then, "Do you think your father and my sire discussed our union in very much detail?"

Thor glanced over his shoulder at Loki, his eyes points of blue light. "They must have at least discussed whether you might be able to carry my child. Why?"

Loki chewed his lip. It was intolerable to contemplate telling this brute such a private thing, but what was one more humiliation in the long line of them?

"We must leave some blood upon the sheets," Loki finally said. He stared resolutely at his hands in his lap. "Otherwise your chamber servants may report that you did not know me tonight as you boasted you would."

Thor laughed, a thunderous sound. "But that would only be needed if your maidenhead were still intact," he said. Silence followed. Loki did not look up. "Have you really never lain with anyone in that fashion, Crown Prince?" Thor asked in disbelief.

"Oh, use whatever's left in your empty head!" Loki exploded, his gaze whipping up at last. "Of course I haven't, not in any fashion."

"But why not?" Thor asked.

Loki's nostrils flared with emotion. He didn't want to explain himself to this brute, but he had to.

"I'm half the size I should be; who would have me in the first place?" He rubbed at his arms again. The room was still so cold.

Thor gaped stupidly, his mouth hanging open. "But your rank— Surely there were suitors?"

Loki flushed. Curse the Odinson and his words that found their mark in Loki's tender heart. "Where I'm from, rank is not enough to overcome such a defect. There were some that desired me in some perverse quest for novelty," he said, eyes downcast. "Of course I did not agree to lay with them." He turned his face away, eyes burning. He recalled the old fears of being split apart by cocks too large for him, or mocked for his own small prick, or worse, treated as some exotic toy instead of a living, breathing thing. "So yes, I still have my—what did you call it?—maidenhead, and Laufey surely knows it. And if he knows, so might Odin."    

"I see," Thor said with a slowness. "I'm sorry. I did not think."

Loki could not resist tossing out a barb. "I wonder if you ever will."

A few more beats of silence passed, during which Loki swallowed down his anger and his shame. Then, with a heavy sigh, Thor levered himself to his feet with a small wobble and reached for his belt, taking the stolen knife in his hand.

Loki's eyes widened. Perhaps he had more to fear from this savage Prince in his cups than he thought.

"Do you bleed red?" Thor asked, thumbing the edge of the blade to test its sharpness.

"What?" Loki said, a strangled sound. His eyes darted to the window. Too small; he'd never fit.

"Your blood. Does it flow red as mine does?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, then." Thor slashed the knife against his own palm, opening a wound several inches long. "Let us leave a stain upon the sheets as you said." He laughed at Loki's horrified look. "I barely feel it. The drink dulls the pain."

Loki assisted Thor in pulling back the top layers of bedclothes until they found the last sheet. Thor pressed his bloody palm to the soft white linen, leaving a blot of red behind.

"Smear it a bit," Loki said even as he dipped his own fingers in the blood to do so. "It will look more natural that way."

They worked together until the blood took on a satisfying appearance. Loki had nothing to compare it to, of course, but to his untrained eyes it appeared convincing, a series of bloody smudges that would mark the path of his supposed deflowering. Thor surveyed the stain while he staunched the bleeding in his hand with a bit of linen cut from one of the sheets.

"If anyone asks, how shall I say I had you?"

"I don't have the faintest idea, obviously." Loki arched a brow at him. "Who would ask such a vulgar question of a Prince anyway?"

"You don't know Asgard," Thor said, smirking and shaking his head.

Loki crossed his arms over his naked chest, cocooned once more in the red cloak. "And I don't wish to." He moved to sit at the edge of the stuffed mattress, as far from Thor and the bloodstain as he could.

Thor regarded him in silence for a moment before moving back to his spot before the fireplace. He found his flask among the furs and resumed his drinking. "You judge my country and its people after being here for only a few hours. You do not know it as I do."

"I know enough," Loki seethed. He lay down on his side, curled into a ball. He wrapped the red cloak tightly about himself and stared at the stone wall. "Drink yourself into a stupor, Odinson. I need my rest."

"Then goodnight to you, Crown Prince." Loki could not tell if the voice was mocking or attempting kindness. It sounded stuffy, whatever it meant.

Oh, who cared what the lump thought of him? Loki shut his eyes and soon fell into an exhausted, heartbroken sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Support + love + comments = updates! 
> 
> I hope you're as excited about this as I am.


	2. Chapter 2

If you know anything about dreams, you know this: that hearing about another person's dream is the most dull thing you could possibly endure. Your own dreams, of course, are fascinating. They are the keys to what lies hidden in your heart or your future. To everyone but you, though, I assure you they are nothing special and extremely grating. And so I must make apologies, for at this point in the tale, I must tell you of a dream that is not your own.

I promise the description is fleeting, and you should feel free to forget it as soon as the telling is over. How important can a dream be, anyway?

That first night in Asgard, Loki dreamt. In his dream, he saw a woman wearing an Asgardian gown of many folds standing on a precipice. She was fit, as muscled as any warrior. As he approached, he saw that she looked out over the ice flats of southern Jotunheim. Loki's heart squeezed at the sight of his home, so far away outside of this dreamscape.

The woman turned to him, her golden hair in its many knots piled atop her head. Her eyes were the same false spring blue of the Odinson's, and they were wide in surprise.

"Who approaches?" she said.

Loki's tongue was thick in his mouth. "Who asks?"

The robed woman lifted one shoulder, her lips pulling across her face as if to say she saw his point. And then she was gone, and Loki was awake in the high bed, tangled in Thor's red cloak.

He sat up with a gasp and first looked toward the fireplace. The Odinson was gone from his spot on the hearth and the embers were still glowing in the grate.

"Ah, he wakes," said a deep, smooth voice.

Loki rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked to the table beneath the window, where a man was stacking bundles of clothing. He was tall. Dark. Broad. The sort of man who moved with the confidence of a great leader. Despite his misgivings about the Aesir as a whole, Loki could see the appeal in at least this one.

"Who are you? Why do you creep into my room as I sleep?" He unwound the red cloak from his limbs and rearranged it to cover himself more modestly.

"Did Thor not tell you?" The man turned and stared at Loki with eyes even stranger than the Odinson's. They were white, yes, but fully white and encased in cloud. "I am Heimdall, the Prince's man. I've come to outfit you with a new wardrobe."

"You're blind," Loki blurted out.

Heimdall inclined his head, his mouth twitching just a tad at the corner. "The Royal Consort is extremely observant," he said in a dry tone. "Please, come choose whatever you'd like to wear today. I can have something tailored for you in time, but these should do for now." He patted the tower of folded fabrics on the table beside him.

Loki slid off the bed and approached on slow feet. Heimdall busied himself with stirring the ashes in the grate as Loki selected breeches and a tunic of black leathers. He dressed himself, as the Prince's man did not offer to assist and he was eager to be out of his wedding costume as quickly as possible.

He fought the urge to stare at Heimdall as he glided about the room. It was rude even if the subject couldn't possibly be aware of it. Finally, though, Loki's curiosity overwhelmed him.

"Were you born blind?" he asked. He had not had much opportunity to meet people who had, like himself, come into the world at a disadvantage.

"No," Heimdall replied as he folded Thor's borrowed cloak, "I'm afraid it is a more recent development."

"Oh." Loki could not hide the disappointment in his voice. Then, realizing how horrid it must have sounded, he added, "My apologies, I did not know—"

"You couldn't have." Heimdall shrugged, then gestured to his blank eyes. "The Prince would tell you what happened if you asked."

"Might you to tell the tale yourself?" Loki stepped into his new breeches and pulled them up to sit low on his hips. "I know I would rather explain my smallness myself than have another speak for me."

"Very well." Heimdall moved to the window and drew the curtains to let in the morning sunlight. "Many years ago I possessed the power to see every corner of the Nine Realms. I was the right hand to His Majesty, trusted to watch over all his lands. But then I was accused of stealing from the King's coffers, and the Death Goddess ordered that my sight—all of it—be plucked from me as punishment." A wry smile twisted his lips. "I was innocent, of course."

Loki sucked in a breath. "And the Odinson forced you to be his manservant after such an ordeal?" He shook his head, appalled. "Salt in the wound. Horrible."

"You misunderstand," said the blind man. "After Hela took my sight, I was to be cast out Asgard, my lifelong home. Thor begged the Allfather to let me stay. The decision to remain at his side in service was my own." He gazed at Loki in a way that made him shiver, like he'd been seen through. "The Prince needs every ally he can muster in these bleak times."

Loki thought for a moment before he said, "Your loyalty is commendable, but I think it sorely misplaced. The Odinson is a brute, barely more than a beast. If I were in your shoes, I would have chosen banishment."

"Would you?" Heimdall moved to the bed and smoothed his hand over the rumpled bedclothes. His eyebrows hooked high on his brow in question. Loki's cheeks burned. "The Prince did not touch you last night," the blind man said. "If he is a beast, he must be a relatively tame one."

"He told you of his plan, then? And his deception?" Loki huffed as he adjusted the fall of his tunic. Its high collar would conceal the golden band at his throat, at least. He stepped into a waiting pair of slippers, glad that the gold bands on his ankles wouldn't need to be stuffed into high boots.

"I am his confidant in all things," Heimdall said vaguely. "The Prince may be a little rough around the edges, I grant you, but I've known him since he was a boy. At heart, he is a gentle—" Heimdall frowned as Loki snorted. "—kind—" Loki chortled. "—brave person."

"Now I see," Loki laughed. "You watched the Odinson toddling about the castle in short pants all those years ago. Of course you could not think him coarse or cruel! He's deceived you from the start."

"Perhaps I am deceived," Heimdall replied, "or perhaps, in time, you will come to agree with me."

"It doesn't sound very likely," Loki said, crossing his arms over his chest. The leather of his new jerkin creaked with his movements.

Heimdall turned his ear to the sound. "Ah, you've chosen the black. To fit your mood, I take it?" He didn't wait for Loki to finish sputtering out a response. "If you've finished dressing, we should take our leave. The chambermaids must be allowed to discover your bloodied sheets, after all." He raised his eyebrows again, this time in amusement.

They left the quarters together. Heimdall guided him through the palace halls, turning at each junction without hesitation. Loki watched the blind man's movements with a careful eye. He feared some misstep but Heimdall made not one.

"How is it that you know the way without the aid of a cane or some guiding magics?" Loki finally asked.

Heimdall smiled faintly. "I've been walking these halls all my life. I know this palace better than anyone," he said. "I do not need my eyes to find my way here."

A handful of Asgardians, all wearing the flowing gowns of courtiers, turned a corner ahead, their merry voices dropping to a hush as they saw Loki. Heimdall offered the women a polite bow as they passed by, but they looked only to Loki, staring with open curiosity and perhaps not a little fear. Loki considered making some rude gesture in their direction but the courtiers swept past before he could.

"Will the sight of me always produce such a reaction?" he murmured.

"I am sorry, Crown Prince. I know what it's like to be gawked at." Heimdall shook his head. "You must understand, most of these people have never seen a Jotun in the flesh. The protection afforded by your marriage will keep you from serious harm, but I fear it will do little to secure acceptance, at least for the time being."

Loki clicked his tongue. "Can such a farce be called a marriage? Well, perhaps on Asgard—"  

Heimdall took him by the arm and led him further down the hall, whispering as they went. "While we are alone, let me remind you: no one but myself is aware of your arrangement with Thor. Take care what you say where others might hear. You may be sour, of course, as no one expects you to be happy in your new circumstances, but do not let on to anyone, even the Prince's friends, that he did not know you last night. The fiction must serve its purpose."

"If you say so," Loki said. His brows knit in thought. This charade would be a strange dance between fact and fantasy, to be sure.

They finally left the halls and came out into a sand-filled courtyard, where the Odinson and several companions appeared to be sparring with sword and lance.

"I'm sure the Prince would like to show you some of his skill in the arena," said the blind man. "Enjoy yourself." And with that, he disappeared through a hidden doorway. Loki nearly called him back; he wasn't looking forward to facing this new minefield alone.

"Your Highness," said one companion, bearded and lithe, to Thor, "it appears your new consort has finally gotten out of bed."

Loki's cheeks burned as the Odinson turned to look at him with a laugh.

"I'm afraid I kept the Crown Prince awake far into the night," he said. He gave his friends a bawdy wink and set his sword in a wooden rack before approaching Loki. He was naked to the waist and dripping with sweat. Loki wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell. Thor took his hand in his slick paw and placed a strangely chaste kiss on the back of it. "I see Heimdall has given you the new clothes. Are they to your liking?" he asked.

"They're fine," Loki said, withdrawing his hand with haste. His gaze wandered to the others in the courtyard, who were staring at him with undisguised interest. Besides the little bearded man, there was a slight archer, a broad lady, and a fat fellow.

"Let me to present my fellow warriors," Thor said, and introduced them by name. They gave Loki polite nods, though all had a wary look about them.

"Perhaps the Royal Consort would be interested in watching a match," said the one called Lady Sif.

"A fine idea." The one named Fandral plucked a rapier from the weapon rack. "Your Highness, allow me. I'm sure the Frost Giant has never laid eyes on proper swordplay, or any civilized mode of fighting, and I would be the best candidate to demonstrate these."

Loki watched the bearded rascal with narrowed eyes. "The Frost Giant should be referred to as the Crown Prince by the likes of you," he said. "And actually, I'm more than familiar with fighting, both what you call civilized and the superior Jotun way."

Fandral was shocked into silence for only a moment before bending over with great peals of laughter. The Asgardians all joined in, all except Thor, who shook his head at the assembled fools and cast Loki pained glances.

"Sorry, Your Highness," choked out Sif between laughs, "but the idea that the little Giant thinks his ways _superior_ — It defies all good sense. We cannot help but find it funny."

The Odinson shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I'm sure the Jotun style of fighting has many good points. We might even learn something from it, if we cared to."

 _Might_? Loki's blood flared. He turned to the four warriors, his mouth set in a grim line. "I have half a mind to teach you myself. What say you lot to a match with me?"

"You?" The archer Hogun eyed him, unimpressed. His gaze went to the Odinson, which only served to incense Loki further. The brute was not his mouthpiece!

"Me," Loki repeated, stepping forward. "My only stipulation is that I choose my opponent."

"Ah, see, the Jotun means to pick the Lady Sif, thinking her an easy target." The fat one named Volstagg brayed with laughter. "He will be sorely disappointed!" Sif punched him in the arm, causing him to wince.

"Crown Prince." Thor took him by the elbow and turned him aside so they could speak in relative privacy. "You do not need to toss out such challenges to save face. There is no honor in being beaten in Asgardian combat."

"I don't plan on being beaten," Loki hissed, "not now, not ever." He craned his head to look over Thor's shoulder and called out, pointing to the huge Volstagg: "That one. I'll fight him."

This produced a new wave of laughter from the warriors. Thor's grip on his arm tightened.

"Lo— Crown Prince," he said, correcting himself at the sight of Loki's glare, "you cannot be serious. Volstagg is twice your size; he's killed many in battle. I won't allow this."

"Oh, you won't?" Loki spat.

"Thor," called Volstagg as he selected a battle axe from the arsenal. "Am I to fight your little bed-warmer or not?"

Thor turned and opened his mouth, but Loki dug his sharp fingernails into Thor's arm to silence him.

"Do not answer for me," he said in a fierce whisper. "I can speak for myself."

The Odinson stared at him for quite awhile, then released his hold on Loki's elbow with cold look. "So be it," he said. "But when Volstagg breaks both your arms, don't say I didn't warn you."

Loki pushed past him and walked into the sparring ring where the huge warrior awaited him, axe resting on his shoulder.

"I've chosen my weapon, Jotun," he boomed. "Which will you have?"

"None," said Loki. "I don't need a weapon to make you yield."

Titters of disbelief rose from the knot of the other three warriors stood on the outskirts of the ring, watching the proceedings with wide eyes. Thor joined them with a displeased mein, pulling on a tunic that had been hanging on a rack to cover his sweat-beaded chest.

"Your Highness, the little Giant will be squashed," Fandral said.

Loki, who could hear the words as clear as day, did not take his eyes from his opponent but called in reply, "I'll wager ten pieces of silver on my victory."

"You don't have ten pieces of silver!" Thor shouted.

"Ten pieces of my husband's silver," Loki amended.

"I'll take that bet," Sif said, and Hogun and Fandral made their own bets despite their Prince's frustrated sputtering.

"Enough chatter." Volstagg hefted his axe. "Fight me!" He charged at Loki, his huge bulk gaining immense speed as he raced down the pitch.

Little did any of the assembled know, however, that Loki had spent all his life sparring with opponents far larger than he, and he knew well the art of using their size to his advantage. In fact, he wouldn't know how to fight someone of his own height and weight, but Volstagg was big enough for his purposes. He sidestepped Volstagg as nimble as a deer and struck out with a vicious kick to the back of the man's knee. Volstagg roared as his leg buckled and he went down, swinging his axe in a wild arc. Loki avoided the sharp edge by mere inches but did not waver, striking again with the blade of his hand at all the vulnerable points in quick succession: kidneys, stomach, the apple of the throat. And finally, he bashed his head against Volstagg's with a sickening crack.

The big man wheezed in pain. The axe fell to the dirt as did the warrior, and Loki, standing over Volstagg, turned to his little audience.

"I'll take that silver now," he said, panting from his exertions.

Money was exchanged amid mumbles of dirty Jotun tricks while Volstagg moaned in the dirt. The warriors helped their friend limp out of the arena, leaving Thor behind. Loki ignored it all in favor of counting his winnings.

Yes, it would be enough to perhaps pay a blacksmith to strike off the gold bands should he find a way to escape the palace.

"You could have told me you knew how to fight like that," Thor said.

"And ruin the surprise?" Loki glanced at him coolly. "You should see your face. Do you not enjoy being taught a lesson in uncivilized Jotun combat styles?"

"I do not enjoy the thought that you might have been hurt. Whatever you think of me, the fact remains that you are my responsibility. No one else is looking out for you, Crown Prince."

"I believe I just demonstrated that I can look after myself." Loki pocketed the silver, then picked up the fallen battle axe with a grunt and replaced it on the weapon rack.

Thor grasped his arm and forced him to turn around to face him. "You are lucky Volstagg and the others are my friends. Otherwise what happened here today might easily get back to my sister." He shook Loki by the arm. "You are supposed to be carrying my child, remember? At least, that is the hope. What would Hela say if she knew I was letting you spar? Our lie, and my plan, would fall to pieces. Do you really think you would remain untouched by my sister's bloody retribution?"

Loki was no fool; he'd understood from the moment of his capture that he was dancing on the edge of a knife. But he had let his desire for petty one-upmanship steer him into the sparring ring. As much as he was loath to admit it, Loki knew Thor was right. They had to be careful. As quiet as mice and as secretive as mist.

"Fine," he said, jerking his arm free. "No more flashy fights. I will be the consummate captured consort. When there are eyes upon me, of course."

"Thank you," Thor breathed out. He kicked at a wayward pebble like a sulking child might. "It's a lovely day," he said, apropos of nothing as far as Loki could tell. "Would you like to take a walk in the gardens with me?"

"A walk?" Loki snorted. "Just because I've agreed to behave—for now—doesn't mean I wish to spend a second longer than necessary in your foul presence."

"We should make an effort," Thor said evenly, "to appear in public as a couple. If I let you wallow in your quarters all day, the court will wonder why I do not show you off as a Royal Consort should be shown. It will raise suspicions."

Loki thought for a moment, his chin jutting out at a stubborn angle. His empty quarters did not appeal, as such, and he did wish to see the gardens—if only to look for gates or weak spots, any avenue of escape. Let the brute have his political machinations, he reasoned. Loki would be moving his own pieces across the board. Hopefully, toward freedom.

"All right. Show me off," he drawled with a mocking waggle of his head.  

Thor offered his arm. Loki scoffed and stared at it a moment before taking it with as light a touch as possible. Thor's milky skin was still hot and sticky with sweat, and even the small brush of Loki's hand sent a frisson of disgust through his frame.

"You might have bathed first," he said as they walked out of the arena. "Though perhaps in Asgard that is an annual event."

"I'll have you know I bathe regularly," Thor returned with some heat. "The baths in the lower levels of the palace are second to none. They're fed by natural hot springs and are warm all year round. I'd invite you to join me, but I doubt you'd accept. They're communal." His eyebrows rose in challenge. "I wonder, would you take the chamber set aside for the men or the women?"

Loki sneered. "Neither, thank you. Sitting in a pool of shared filth? It sounds dreadful."

"I suppose Jotun baths are superior?" Thor asked, stinging as a wasp.

"Of course. I have my own private rain bath in my wing at home. It's perfectly lovely and, I venture, much more sanitary."

"Had," Thor said. His tone was without mercy. "You _had_ your own private rain bath. In what was _once_ your home."

Loki's smug smirk fell away. The beast's cruelty reared its head at the most inconvenient times. There was a saying on Jotunheim: "Don't speak of the past spring on the coldest night of winter." Of course the foul Odinson would ignore such wisdom, and would twist the knife at every opportunity.

Do not let him see your tears, Loki ordered himself as he looked away.

"I didn't mean to—" Thor began, then, anger seeping back in, he said, "I am trying to make your stay here as comfortable as possible. You don't need to remind me at every turn how loathsome you find my palace or my person. I'm already aware of your opinions."

"Of course," Loki murmured. "How silly of me to criticize my jailer."

Thor clicked his tongue. "Oh, you're impossible." He led Loki through a series of archways with a sigh. "We're here. If you have any disparaging comparisons for my garden, let them fly now."

Loki took in their surroundings, blinking in the bright sunlight. All around them were leafy trees and flowering shrubs, bursts of color overflowing the boundaries along the neat stone pathways. Butterflies floated among the blooms, as light as candy floss. Birdsong filled the vast courtyard. Plenty of people strolled about in fine clothes, but the clever layout of the garden allowed only glimpses of them between the rows, providing a sense of privacy and peace. Even Loki, who simmered in his rage, could see how fine a place it was.

"Passable," he said with a shrug.

Thor growled and tugged him along the promenade. They walked in silence, taking meandering trails past huge green bushes cut into fantastical shapes and carpets of flowers arranged in colorful patchwork patterns. Loki marvelled at the strange plants, for Jotunheim did not grow such abundant greenery, and though curiosity gnawed at his mind, he refused to ask his unwanted companion about them. He doubted the brute would have any knowledge of the botanical wonders anyway.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Thor murmured as Loki stopped to admire a cluster of flowers shaped like tiny silver bells.

"It would be," Loki said, "if I didn't have a buffoon like you breathing down my neck as I tried to enjoy it."

The Odinson's nostrils flared. "Now look—"

But Thor's retort was cut down by the appearance of Heimdall, who seemed to materialize from a stand of fruit trees with his hands clasped behind his back.

"My Prince, Royal Consort," he said with little bows to each of them, "are you enjoying the fine day?"

"No," Thor said at the same time Loki said, "Not hardly."

Heimdall's small smile did not waver. He reached out and found Loki's arm, plucking it from Thor's and steering him in the opposite direction. "I am sorry to hear that. Perhaps you would be interested in the tree that grows in the center of those flowerbeds ahead. Do you see it? It's the oldest living thing in Asgard; please, take a look. I need a word with my Prince at the moment."

Loki knew a brush-off when he heard one, but he acquiesced easily enough. The less time he spent at the Odinson's side, the better. He walked the short distance to the gnarled tree and examined it with a modicum of interest. He rubbed one of its brassy leaves between his fingertips, surprised to find it warm to the touch. A glance over his shoulder revealed Heimdall and Thor deep in conversation. They seemed to be paying him no mind. What better chance to slip away and try to find an escape route?

Loki turned down another garden path, pretending to be intrigued by a little bubbling pond in the shade of a towering pine, and kept going until Heimdall and the Odinson were obscured by greenery. He attempted to find his way out of the courtyard, but every path he took seemed to lead him in a circle. The garden was a maze and Loki, unfamiliar with its construction, couldn't even find his way back to the old tree let alone a way out of the palace.

Eventually Loki realized he was on a path in parallel with the one where Heimdall and Thor stood, for he could hear their voices through the thick hedge that separated them. Their conversation was whispered, but Loki could make out the words clearly.

"I have _tried_ , Heimdall," the Odinson said. "It's hopeless. He hates me."

Loki's ears pricked up. They could only be discussing him. But why?

"Of course he hates you. Think of all he's endured. You haven't even given it a day," Heimdall said. "Please, Your Highness, have patience."

"How can I be patient when every hour counts against us?" Thor groaned, and though the sight of him was hidden from Loki, he could imagine the brute tossing his huge hands in the air. "He's as prickly as a porpentine. This will never work."

A frown crossed Loki's face as he listened. What could he mean by that?

"Not with that outlook it won't." Heimdall's voice was stern but warm, like a teacher's or that of a beloved parent. "You must make yourself softer, Thor. Do not bite back when the Crown Prince baits you. Treat him with kindness, no matter the cost. Show him the man I know you can be."

"I fear you have more faith in me than I do," Thor said.

"You're the second person I've told today that my faith is not misplaced," Heimdall said. "Now go collect your consort. Is he still admiring Yggdrasil?"

Loki froze behind his hedge as he heard Thor's yelp of surprise. "I do not know where he went. Quick, help me find him."

"Yes, of course, ask the blind man," Heimdall said with dry humor.

Loki didn't stay to hear Thor's reply. It wouldn't do to be caught eavesdropping. He tiptoed on silent feet down his own path and wended his way deeper into the garden. Why was the Odinson so determined to sway his mood, he wondered. What possible assistance could Loki give, as powerless as he was?

"Crown Prince!" Thor's voice boomed out over the hedgerows. "Are you lost?"

Not lost enough, Loki thought as he swept further down the stone lane. He followed the twists and turns until he was well and truly hidden from the Odinson. Loki looked over his shoulder to make certain the beast wasn't at his heels, and so almost walked straight into a marble statue that stood in a little clearing. Loki stopped short at the last moment and stared up at the figure.

The statue depicted a woman in Asgardian dress, her body tall and broad, her well-muscled arm held out in a beckoning gesture. Her long hair was dressed in knots that cascaded over her stone shoulders. But it was her face that held Loki's attention with its strong jaw and full mouth.

He knew that face. This was the woman he'd dreamt of the night before, the one who had stood on a precipice overlooking his homeworld.

"There you are!" The Odinson came hurtling out of the maze. His face was a mask of rage. "Did you not hear—?" And then he stopped cold, his words choked to nothing.

Loki turned to look at him. The brute was staring at the statue with real emotion painted on his furred face, and for once, the emotion was not anger. If Loki didn't know any better, he might call it sorrow.

"Who is she?" Loki asked.

Those strange eyes shifted to Loki with some surprise, as if the Odinson had quite forgotten him for a moment. Swallowing thickly, Thor said, "She was my mother."

Loki did not know how else to ask the thing, and so said in a soft voice, "Was?" It made his skin prickle to think he might have been visited by a ghost.

"She died. Years ago." Thor looked down at the ground, his jaw ticking. "Pardon me, Crown Prince. I do not often venture to this part of the garden. Missing her is terrible enough but seeing her—this likeness of her—"

Loki, who was no stranger to loss himself, felt the smallest kernel of pity take hold in his breast. "We can go elsewhere," he offered.

Thor gazed up at him with deep gratitude warming his blue eyes, but he shook his head. "No, I should stay for a moment. It's been too long since I've done so." He turned to a small stone bench set in the shade of some ornamental trees and took a seat there, clasping his hands between his knees and looking at the statue.

Loki stood awkwardly between Thor and the cut-out in the hedge that would serve as an exit. It would probably be polite to leave, he thought, but then again, courtesy was such a tricky thing in this new land.

Thor made the decision for him, which should have rankled more than it did. "Will you...sit with me?" he asked and patted the space beside him in invitation.

"I suppose I might," Loki said, and sat with dainty care upon the cool stone. He gazed at the statue of the woman along with the Odinson for long minutes in silence, tracing the shape of her face with his eyes.

"You look just like her," he said suddenly, without thinking.

"Yes." Thor rubbed his palms together. "Father always said so. I inherited her hair. Her eyes. Her strength of body." The air rushed out of him in a sigh. "I wish I had her strength of will, but I do not."

Loki cocked his head, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"My mother, Frigga," Thor nodded to her statue, "was the finest woman I've ever known. She was a Princess of Vanaheim before she married my father, and she studied the magical arts all her life. She was sharp, talented in so many ways. You would have liked her."

Loki's mind worked apace. If the lady had possessed magical prowess, perhaps he really had seen her ghost. It was not unheard of for magic users to work some spell to allow them to speak from beyond the veil. This Frigga might have done such a thing.

"What happened to her?" Loki asked.

"A good question," Thor murmured, then shook his head. "I still do not know exactly. She rode out one day for a hunt in the land of Midgard—she loved hunts, and loved that place—and when night fell, her servants and handmaidens returned to the palace, screaming in terror. I was deep in my cups that evening when I heard that she had been lost in a fen and drowned." The Odinson covered his face with his hands, speaking now into his muffling palms. "I thought it was a bad dream. I had just seen her at breakfast. Father was beside himself, frozen like this very statue. I flew into a rage. My sister tried to calm me. She said that the bogs in Midgard can be such dangerous places, and surely it was an accident and not some nefarious plot by the mortals who dwell there. Her words were poison to my broken heart."

A chill ran down Loki's spine. He knew, somehow, where the story would lead but still he asked, "What did you do?"

"I acted like a foolish boy," Thor said. He dropped his hands and hung his head. "I traveled to Midgard myself. And I leveled a city in search of my mother's killers."

Loki stared. How could a single Asgardian, even one as strong as this, destroy an entire town?

Thor caught his eye and understood the question there. "You recall how Father called me the God of Thunder at our handfasting? It was more than a title, once. I had the power to command the skies, and to use their lightning as my own weapon."

"But no longer?" Loki croaked. It wasn't difficult to picture the Odinson, a little younger, much more powerful, calling down a storm to match his turmoil and striking down all who stood in his way.

A weary nod answered him. "When Father roused from his grief-stricken stupor and saw what I had done—how I had wreaked merciless havoc upon a people who worshipped my family as Gods—he decreed I be punished. I was cursed, and my thunder was taken from me. If I had possessed but half my mother's will, I would not have been ruled by my despair, and I would not now suffer under the weight of my sentence."

So the brute was bound by magics too. Their circumstances again seemed more similar than not. Loki shook his head to clear it. "Why tell me all this?"

"You're a clever one," Thor said. "You would have learned the truth of it soon enough. And anyway, you deserve to know what you've been forced to marry." He smiled sadly at the statue of his mother. "I wish it didn't have to be this way, Crown Prince. Truly."

Loki mulled this over. One secret revealed, but so many still hidden. Why did the Odinson persist in baring his soul? And what reason could he have for wanting Loki's friendship?

A careful test of the waters was in order. "I never knew my dam," Loki said, nodding to the marble Frigga.

The morsel of information had the desired effect. Thor's fair brows rose as he looked at Loki. "I am sorry. I didn't know. And here I am blathering—"

"It's quite all right." Loki shrugged. "I couldn't mourn what I never knew."

The Odinson seemed to struggle to form a response. "Your people, you do not call your parents mothers and fathers, is that right? So your dam was...?"

"Yes, Laufey sired me and it was a high-ranking warrior called Lmir who birthed me. As soon as I came out, everyone knew something was amiss. I was a runt from the beginning, you see." Loki tipped his head back and watched a particularly melodic songbird wheel through the slice of sky. "Lmir died shortly afterward."

"In childbirth?" Thor asked.

"No," Loki said. "According to the stories I've been told, my dam took one look at me, the horrible little thing he'd borne, and he walked into the barren ice flats to die, umbilical cord still trailing." He traced the path he imagined the blood might have made in the snow in the air with his fingertip.

Thor's mouth hung open.

"My sire spared my life, but only because he couldn't bear to destroy the last remnant of his brave and beautiful helpmate," Loki continued. "My people think him very compassionate for this." His eyes slid over to meet Thor's gaze. "What do you think?"

Those strange eyes stared at Loki for a long moment. Loki waited in silence.

"Far be it for me to say a word against your people's customs," Thor finally said, slowly and cautiously, like he knew he was being tested. "There's still so much of Jotunheim that I do not understand. But I do know that you did not ask to be born, and can't help your smallness, and—" He shook his head. "The thought that an innocent babe might be scorned for that, I admit it pains me. Someday if the Norns grant me the joy, I will have children of my own, and whatever their size or shape or strength, I would love them fiercely."

And their color, Loki wondered, what of that? Hela's barb from the handfasting ceremony echoed in his memory. Loki did not ask about such an inclusion to the list, for he did not care to hear the answer, which was sure to be a disappointment. At any rate, he wouldn't be bearing the Aesir's child; their ruse had seen to that. So what did it matter?

Thor looked to him, watching his face. His hand moved the barest inch from its place on the stone bench, his littlest finger brushing up against Loki's. The air held its ground in Loki's lungs at the touch.

"I know you are very small by the measurement of your people, but in my eyes, you are the perfect size," Thor said softly. Loki's fiery gaze went to him in an instant, for he did not care how the Odinson saw him. Thor, seeing his mistake, rushed to add, "Not because your size happens to match mine, but because it is who you are, and I do not see how— How could that ever be wrong?"

Loki sat perfectly still, staring at the Odinson. He'd never heard anyone say that which he had longed to hear all his life, and he had no idea how to answer. Part of him wished to believe the sentiment, but another part—a more practiced part—distrusted it. It must be some trick, he thought, some low deception that made such coveted words fall from that hideous mouth. And so he stayed silent.

Thor watched him in that silence before moving his hand away with a sigh. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm saying. Don't listen to me—I have not the clever tongue that you have, and my meaning is often muddled."  He rose to his feet. "Have you eaten yet?" he asked. "The midday meal should be served soon, if you care to take it with me."

"Well," Loki said, blinking, "I am famished." He had missed breakfast that morning, and of course had not eaten at the feast the night prior. No wonder his head was spinning. Hunger was making him weak.

Thor offered his hand to help Loki to his feet, but Loki, seeing it, batted it aside.

"No need for that," he said, rising from the bench unassisted. "No one's watching, anyway."

"How true, Crown Prince," Thor said quietly as he ushered the way out of the garden and deep into the palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying. Your comments give me life. <3


	3. Chapter 3

Loki followed Thor through the Great Hall, now empty but for a few scurrying servants, and into a smaller room beyond, where a long table was set with steaming dishes and great flagons of wine. Though the sight of a meal was most welcome, Loki's heart sank when he saw the table's current occupants. The Allfather and Hela sat at opposite ends, and looked up at their entrance. Hela's gaze was blank but the King's filled with delight.

"Ah, I was not sure if my son would make an appearance at my table today," Odin said. He sopped up some juices from his plate with a hunk of bread and ate it before gesturing to the open seats. "Good. You need to keep up your strength."

Loki's teeth ground together. The sound of it echoed in his skull.

"I was just showing my consort the gardens," Thor said, ignoring his father's salacious meaning. He guided Loki to a chair at the middle of the table, pulling it out and glancing to it beseechingly. "The weather is so fine, I thought it would be a shame not to take advantage."

Loki, realizing he was meant to sit in the offered chair, took his seat. Thor sat directly to his left and began heaping his plate with foodstuffs. Loki frowned at his own bare plate, then at the assortment of unidentifiable dishes before him. Everything seemed to be brown or white. And covered in gravy.

"Here, allow me. This is a favorite of mine," Thor said, and spooned a pile of brown-and-white mush onto Loki's plate along with a few fillets of meat and another puree that was more greenish.

Loki watched the food congeal together with a heavy heart.

The Jotun diet, of course, was and still is very different from that of the Aesir. Where Asgardians believe in hearty meals three times daily, Jotuns nibble. Loki, being so very small, ate even less than was usual, but his brothers would eat nine or ten times in a day. These meals were light fare: a bowl of sugared mountain fruit or a diminutive honey cake or, at most, a few slices of delicately steamed fish and a glass of ice-wine—if you were a member of the royal family, that is. The food of the common folk, both in Asgard and Jotunheim, was not so luxurious or bountiful, as is often the case all across the universe. This is beside the point, which is that Loki, sitting at Odin's table, wasn't sure he could eat without risking indigestion.

"Does our food not appeal, Jotun?" asked Hela from her end of the table. She lifted a morsel of meat to her mouth and sucked it clean off the bone, her eyes never leaving his.

"It's only unfamiliar," Loki said. He would not give this witch the satisfaction of his fear. His gaze drifted to Hela's fingers, slick with juices. Even for the sake of politeness, he didn't think he could eat with his hands in the Asgardian fashion. It was just too disgusting. He turned to Thor, speaking in a low voice. "Are there any utensils I might use?"

"Oh!" Thor nearly choked on a mouthful of what looked like a baked root. "Is that how you eat on Jotunheim? Yes, I'm sure we can procure something—" He turned and gestured to one of the many servants that lined the walls, silent as ghosts. One peeled off to disappear through a door that blended seamlessly with the walls, and when she returned, it was with a collection of silver forks, spoons, and a knife in a little woven basket.

"Will these do, my Prince?" she asked Thor.

Loki made a point of answering himself. "Yes, thank you," he said, taking the offered utensils. They were better than nothing, though Loki yearned for his old set made of finely carved wood.

"Those were a gift from the royal house of Vanaheim," the Allfather said. "They eat with tools as your people do. Quite fussy, I think, but my wife always did say…." He trailed off, his eyes going soft and far away. Loki waited for the King to finish his thought, but he never did.

Thor gestured for him to eat instead of waiting, and so Loki did. The food was very heavy and a bit bland, but Loki did not think it wise to complain. He ate mechanically, small bites collected on the tines of his fork, eyes on his plate. Though it went against his nature to eat more than a few nibbles in one sitting, Loki made an effort to eat as much as he could, not knowing when he might next be fed. His stomach churned at the thought. He could feel Hela's stare but he only concentrated on his meal and tried to ignore her.

"It must be very strange for a Jotun, living above ground," she said almost to herself. She drained her wineglass and a member of the household staff rushed to refill it with a heavy flagon. Hela held the glass out without looking at it or the mousy servant. Her eyes were piercing blades aimed only at Thor. "I hope our sun is not too harsh for him. Perhaps it would be wise to give him a little hole where he can make his nest."

Loki bristled. His people did not, of course, live in holes. It was true that the royal city of Jotunheim—called, in its own uninspired way, Jotunstad—had been built underground, but it was a vast cavern carved into the living rock, housing that great acropolis and the royal palace. It was a feat of engineering and artistry the likes of which could be found nowhere else in the Nine. What's more, its location had more to do with defense against Aesir attacks than any desire of the Jotun people to live beneath the surface.  

Loki opened his mouth to say as much, but he was halted by Thor, who pinched his thigh under the table in warning. Loki glared at him but held his tongue.

"I think my consort is quite comfortable in the quarters I've had prepared, sister," he said, "but thank you for your concern."

"You're so welcome." Her head tilted to the side as she regarded Thor and Loki on their side of the table. "And what of the imminent birth? Have steps been taken to ensure my niece or nephew will be kept safe when they arrive?"

Loki frowned at this and looked to Thor for an explanation, but the brute would not meet his eye.

He spoke stiffly to his sister in reply. "Let us take the joyous arrival of my future child one step at a time. After the quickening—" Here he laid a hand on Loki's arm and gave him an encouraging look. "—I will speak to the midwives and listen to what they recommend."

"Why?" Loki asked, unable to contain his curiosity. "Are births so very dangerous in Asgard? In my homeland, it is very rare indeed for complications to arise." In fact, the Jotun were the most advanced race in the Nine Realms when it came to birthing care—a consequence, no doubt, of their singular sex. (Imagine if all people in your world had an equal chance of carrying a child. You can foresee the swiftness with which priorities might shift, can you not?)

"Well," Hela drawled, her dark eyes swinging to fasten on him, "I'm sure that's true, if one doesn't count the eating of one's young as a complication."

He whipped his head about to face her. The blood drained from Loki's face, leaving him quite violet. "What did you say?"

She flicked a crumb away from her place setting. "Everyone knows that when a Jotun goes into labor, the pain sometimes drives him mad. I, for one, will not allow my own nieces and nephews to be devoured as poor Jotun pups so often are by their dams."

Loki was shocked into silence by this outlandish statement. Where would he even begin with this latest affront against his people? The faulty logic of a race surviving for generations despite this supposed affliction, perhaps? A demand to meet these "everyones" who had surely never witnessed such a thing, since it wasn't true?

He never got the chance to begin his dissection, however. Thor once again spoke up in his stead.

"As I said, dear Hela. One thing at a time." His tight smile was matched by the tightness of his grip on Loki's arm, which trembled with the barely suppressed urge to fly across the table and strangle the foul Goddess.

Odin nodded absently as he chewed his meat. "Yes, let's not go borrowing trouble. Not on so lovely a day."

That seemed to put a stop to all conversation, and the Odinson and the General returned to their meals. Loki tried to follow suit, but the food turned to ashes in his mouth as soon as he tasted it. He'd known that the Asgardians, who hated Jotunheim with all their fiendish might, would denigrate his name, but he'd had no inkling of the lengths they might go to in painting him a rabid animal. They were the real beasts! How dare they—!

Patience, Loki told himself. Stay alive, stay alert, make your escape and take your revenge.

The silence did not last for very long. Hela looked up from her plate, a tiny smirk painted on her lips.

"So," she said, "how was he last night, Thor?" Her voice carried throughout the room. "I worried for you. Are the Frost Giants as frigid as they say?"

Loki paused in chewing, his silver fork clattering to his plate. He could bear this no longer. His eyes met Hela's with all the anger coursing within him.

"Where I come from," he said, "it is considered poor form to speak of the bedroom at the dinner table."

"That clears it up then." Hela flicked a spiky-nailed hand through the air. "He's as cold as a fish."

Loki's hand tightened around his knife. He longed to cut out her horrible tongue, decorum be damned. Thor must have sensed his thoughts, for his massive paw covered Loki's and pinned the knife to the table.

"Sister, I will say this only once," Thor growled. "Crown Prince Loki is my consort and a guest in our house. You will speak to him with respect or not at all."

Loki's heart leapt to hear these words. His fingers loosened around the dinner knife. To at last be defended, even if it was by this brute, was a welcome thing indeed. Hela opened her mouth to retort, but Odin cut her off.

"Thor is right, dear daughter," he said, reaching for his cup of wine. "There is no need for this animosity. This is a time of peace."

"Of course." Hela's smile was sharper than a thousand lances. "Pardon my misstep."

Thor pushed himself away from the table, Loki's hand still caught in his. "If you'll excuse us. My appetite has left me."

"Hopefully only the appetite for food." Odin laughed and gestured with his crust of bread. "Go, go. Ah, to be young again."

Loki left the dining hall alongside his husband, Thor's hand tight on his. He waited until they were out of earshot of the servants and guards before he spoke, and even then, it was a soft whisper.

"You stood up for me. Against your sister."

Thor glanced at him with an uncomfortable shrug. "Perhaps not the wisest course of action, given the circumstances."

"Still," Loki said, "thank you."

A smile as warm as sunlight answered him. Thor's fingers tangled with his. Loki's cheeks heated; there was no need for this. They were alone in the long hall leading back to the royal quarters. Yet he did not shake off Thor's touch as they walked.

"Please do not think that all Asgardians are like Hela," Thor told him. "She is cruel beyond sense, and it would wound me terribly if you judged us all by her character."

"I don't," Loki said quickly. Too quickly. He cleared his throat before adding, "Your sister is clearly a force unto herself. To lump you in with the worst of your people would be unfair."

"I am glad to hear it." Thor stopped for a moment and, taking Loki's hands in each of his, ushered them into a shallow alcove set into the stone wall. The little shelter it provided had a near-magical effect, making Loki feel as if they were completely alone, perhaps the only two creatures stirring in the whole palace.

Thor stood much too close, still speaking in a quiet whisper. "The Norns have thrown us together in the strangest and most awful way, I know, but I hope that in time you will look upon me as an ally. Perhaps...even a friend?"

Loki looked into those eyes of blue and thought of a false spring's sky. "Perhaps," he murmured. "In time."

The Odinson seemed very pleased with this answer, grinning as wide as could be. "Then let us be ourselves when we are alone to better build such a friendship. Would that suit you?"

"It would, I think." Loki found himself helpless to do anything but smile in return, and soon they were both laughing and smiling and gazing upon each other in the relative privacy of their little alcove. Despite the desperate times, Loki's heart lightened. For the first time since his capture, he felt a measure of hope.

Then the Odinson went and opened his mouth.

"May I ask you something?" Thor gestured vaguely at Loki's temples, his grin still holding. "Where are your horns?"

Loki blinked, his mirth receding. "My what?"

"Horns. Do they come in later in life? Or does your hair hide them?" Thor lifted himself on tiptoe to better look down upon Loki's head. "Perhaps yours are just very small."

"I—" Loki could barely form words. Humiliation welled in him like a thick oil, but it was his anger that set it ablaze. His voice, once he found it, was as hot as a brazier. "I do not have horns."

"No?" Thor frowned. "In every story I've heard, your people do."

"Every story you've heard," Loki bit out, "is wrong." He looked away to hide his face. It wouldn't do for Thor to see the disappointment written there. How foolish Loki had been, to think this brute might be one of the good ones. There were no good Asgardians; he saw that now.

"It's fine if you have them," Thor continued in a mollifying tone. "I would think them quite dashing."

"I don't care what you think," Loki snapped. "I am not some demon from your storybooks! My people do not grow horns, and we do not eat our young, and we do not live in holes, or whatever else you think about us. Why can't you just—?" He clamped his mouth shut and turned away again. It was useless to try to explain. It would be even more hopeless to entreat this beast to simply _be better_.

"I do not think you a demon, Crown Prince." Thor's hands, chapped and warm, closed over Loki's shoulders. Loki shrugged them off. Thor allowed it but sighed through his nose. "How is it that no matter what I say I invoke your ire? I only meant that I hoped you felt free to be yourself when we are alone."

"Then here I am, being myself," Loki said inches from Thor's face, "telling you how ignorant and repulsive you are."

Thor's face twisted into something like an approaching storm. "And you are foolish to reject my friendship. Use your head! Who else will defend you as I have?"

Murderous rage flowed through Loki, but he forced himself to breathe. The Odinson had spoken up on his behalf, that much was true. But then again—

Loki stared at Thor, his crimson gaze filled with disbelief. "Did you orchestrate that on purpose?" he demanded. "Coming to my defense against your sister?"

"What?" Thor took a step back, as far as the alcove would allow. His face colored a fierce pink. "Are you mad? I do not control Hela; no one can."

"No, but you knew she would be at the Allfather's table, surely." Loki advanced, warming to his theme. "You invited me to the meal knowing that she would snipe at me, knowing that I would be an object of her ridicule. Just so you could swoop in and play the hero."

"That's not—" Thor turned his gaze away, his entire posture speaking to his guilt.

"You could have asked Heimdall for a tray or taken the meal elsewhere, but no. You deliberately brought me to the place where you knew I would be most vulnerable!"

Thor showed his clenched teeth through a growl. "You don't understand. I needed to gain your trust!"

Loki's anger leapt. "You think you can trick me into trusting a brute like you? What's your game, Odinson? Why do you need me for an ally?"

Thor sighed. His eyes were as false as the rest of him. "If I told you," he said, "the fate of both our kingdoms would be at risk, not to mention our lives. We are in a precarious position, Crown Prince, but while you remain in the dark, there is still hope."

Loki scoffed and shook his head. "How convenient for you. I must simply take the word of a liar and a tyrant? I don't think so."

"Believe me or don't," Thor said with some heat. "In this, I speak the truth. I am...sorry that I placed you in Hela's path. I just didn't know how else to prove to you that I am your friend!"

"You are no friend of mine," Loki said. "That is all you proved." He swept out of the alcove and down the hall, calling out as he walked, heedless of who might hear. "Our little truce is over. You have broken the terms. From now on, consider me imprisoned under protest. I want nothing to do with you."

"Crown Prince—" The beast's heavy footfalls followed Loki down the hall.

Loki waved a hand above his head. "No. Do not address me. Do not touch me. Do not look at me."

"I can hardly avoid looking at you!"

"Try," Loki ground out. He arrived at the door to his quarters and tried the knob, but the door was locked. He rattled the doorknob over and over, still with no luck.

Thor stepped beside him with a soft sigh and produced a key. Loki backed away as he fitted it into the lock with a click.

"This door will lock upon shutting," Thor said. "Only the servants and I have a key."

"Truly a prisoner, then," Loki sniped, unable to keep his promised silence.

"It's meant for your protection." Thor turned to him with an unreadable look in his cold eyes. "But if you'd like me to be as honest as I can, then yes. It is also meant to keep you here. You have a part to play yet, Crown Prince, even if I cannot reveal it to you."

"Go to Hel." Loki jerked the door open and stepped inside the room. "Leave me be."

Thor's hand caught the door before Loki could slam it in his face. "I will leave you for now, but understand—" He hesitated. "I must come to your room tonight. And every night for the next week or two."

"Still sticking to your ruse, then?" Loki flushed a deep violet. "Yes, mustn't let the Allfather think you aren't rutting atop me nightly, forcing a child into my belly."

"Would you please—!" Thor stopped and clamped his mouth shut for a measure, then said again, more softly, "I will sleep on the floor as I did last night. I will not speak to you if you wish. And I will try not to look at you."

"Such gallantry!" Loki laughed, short and harsh. "In time, perhaps your impeccable manners will earn you my _friendship_."

This time he succeeded in slamming the door.

If you've ever been on either side of a slammed door, then you know the feeling that creeps in as the sound of it fades. There is a heavy breathing that slows with the heartbeat. The racing mind that combs over every word said and replays the most anger-making ones on a loop. The despair that follows. So it was then on both sides of the door, and for Loki's part, he stayed completely still until his breath returned to normal and he heard the Odinson's footsteps walking away.

What would he have done if the brute, armed with his damned key, had forced his way back into the room to have one final word? Nothing. Loki touched the doorknob and tried to turn it, but found it locked as expected. He was truly trapped here. And he could do nothing to stop the Odinson from coming into his quarters whenever he wished.

There was nothing in the room that would keep a person occupied. Though furnished nicely, there was not one book nor sheaf of paper and ink nor artwork to admire. Loki had nothing to keep him company but his thoughts, which were now so bleak that he thought it only fair that he allow the tears he'd been holding at bay since his capture.

He sat upon the high bed and cried.

Loki was not often given to crying. Growing up as he did, the size that he was, he had many reasons to cry, but he had learned at a young age that showing any emotion was a weakness that could be exploited. And so, he'd hardened himself like steel that had been plunged into ice water. Even when he was alone, Loki did not like to indulge in tears, fearful that someone might see, or even worse, that he would lose his practiced ability to keep inside what mattered. He'd cried more in the past two days than he had in his entire life.

Despite his inexperience, Loki cried beautifully. It must be said that his nose did not run as some might, and his face did not become puffy. He merely turned a slightly paler shade of blue, like the sky at the horizon line, and let the tears fall in crystalline lines down his cheeks.

That is how he looked when Heimdall entered some time later, when the window had gone dim with sunset. Loki scrubbed his face with the back of his sleeve until he remembered that Heimdall would not see the tears.

"The Prince asked me to bring you a dinner tray," the man said, setting said tray on the side table. "I was not sure what you would prefer to eat. Will this do?"

Loki glanced at the plate. More white and brown lumps covered in the requisite gravy. He cleared his throat and hoped it did not sound of sobbing when he answered. "It's fine, thank you."

Heimdall's cloudy eyes shifted toward him. Loki felt absolutely gossamer before them.

"A difficult day," the Prince's man said, "though I don't know how well it could have gone, considering. Shall I leave? Or would you welcome my company?"

Loki hesitated. He liked the man and his confident manner, but still—

"If the Odinson has sent you as his agent in an attempt to gain my trust, I would ask you to leave."

Heimdall shook his head. "His Highness is too busy wallowing in his own anger to give me such orders. And even if he had, I have a terrible habit of ignoring orders that I think are stupid." His smile was so warm and genuine, Loki found himself believing his words. Just a touch.

"I don't suppose you could tell me what this is all about?" he asked. "And why the Odinson's plan involves me in particular?"

A shake of that noble head, knotted hair swaying. "I'm afraid in that, at least, my Prince is correct. You cannot know, not yet. I'll tell you one thing, though: you're both too impatient."

Loki rolled his eyes and then, for the blind man's benefit, said, "You can't tell, but I'm rolling my eyes."

"Oh, I can tell," Heimdall drawled. He squatted by the hearth and began building a fire. "I know you have no reason to trust what I say, Crown Prince, but I will say it anyway. For all his flaws, Thor does not wish you ill. He is trying as best he can to do what is right."

"It would be right to let me go free and deal with the consequences like a warrior should," Loki said. He levered himself off the bed and went to the tray on the table to inspect his dinner. While the food did not look very appetizing, there was an incomplete set of silver utensils laid out alongside the plate. Loki picked up a shellfish fork and looked it over before setting it down with a light clatter.

Heimdall cocked his head at the sound. "Ah, yes, Thor asked that I make sure you had a fork and spoon. No knife, though, you understand." He turned back to the tinder, arranging it in the fireplace.

Loki decided he could go without dinner. His stomach didn't seem interested. He watched Heimdall light the fire and then depart on soundless feet, leaving Loki once again alone with his thoughts.

What could he do to protest his situation? He could take a burning log from the fireplace and use it to light his bedsheets on fire, but that would only serve to perhaps choke him to death with smoke, and Loki did not wish to die. He could fling his dinner tray across the room, but Loki abhorred a mess. While looking around the room, Loki's eyes fell upon the bearskin rug and the pile of floor pillows that the Odinson had used as a bed the previous night.

Fine. The beast had said he'd sleep on the floor; let him truly sleep on the floor, was Loki's feeling. He grabbed up the rug and pillows and, before he could think too much about it, shoved them out the little window. They fell with light thumps to the courtyard far below. Loki nodded and dusted his hands off, satisfied.

It was only later as Loki lay in bed, waiting for the sound of the beast's key in the latch, that he thought that perhaps the Odinson would be furious about his little stunt and might exact some revenge from him. He could not help the little jolt in his limbs when the dreaded click finally came. Loki remained completely motionless in his bed, feigning sleep as Thor entered the dark room.

True to his promise, the Aesir Prince did not speak to Loki, only closed the door and stood there a moment in tense silence.

Loki dared not breathe. The brute surely had noticed the absent rug and pillows. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for a vicious hand to grab hold of his hair, or to close around his throat, or some other attack. But Thor only made a small sound, wispy like a sigh of resignation, and readied himself for sleep. Loki listened to the rustle of his cloak as it was removed, the slither as the laces of his jerkin were undone. Then a heavy thud on the flagstones, and silence.

Loki chanced a peek from his pillow. He could see Thor's broad back lined in weak light from the fading embers. The oaf was curled on his side upon the bare floor, using his cloak as a pillow.

A little victory. Loki would take it. He shut his eyes and went to sleep at last.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Encouragement is appreciated :)


	4. Chapter 4

Days passed.

Easy to say such a thing, yet difficult to live it. You'd know if you'd ever been confined to a room for any length of time. It's one of the worst things that can be done to a person; no matter how plush the environs, imprisonment is imprisonment. Loki, who had never endured such a thing, was surprised to find how deeply he missed the company of his fellow living creatures. Though Thor came to his room nightly, of course, Loki was careful to be abed by the time he appeared, feigning sleep to avoid him. The Odinson may as well have been a ghost. Loki spoke to no one save for Heimdall, and those conversations were mainly terse pleasantries.

"Good morning, Crown Prince."

"A fine day, Crown Prince."

"Did you sleep well, Crown Prince?"

It was enough to drive a mind mad, but Loki always made a point to respond with politeness. He would have liked a deeper discussion, for Heimdall seemed to be an interesting man who'd led a strange life, but his duties did not allow him to linger long in Loki's quarters. Once breakfast was delivered and the ashes stirred and the curtains opened to let in the morning light, Heimdall was off to his next task. Probably seeing to his beastly Prince.

Time crept onward. Since there was nothing else in the room to occupy himself (save for his thoughts, which were best avoided), Loki began staring out his little window and into the courtyard below. The bear rug and pillows had been removed at some point soon after their tumble to the ground; Loki assumed Heimdall or one of the other servants must have collected them, but whatever had happened to them afterward was a mystery. They hadn't been returned to Loki's quarters as he'd thought they would be. The Odinson must not enjoy civilized comforts, for he slept upon the bare flagstones nightly. He'd probably be able to sleep soundly on the floor of a barn, for all Loki knew.

These were the sort of thoughts he would latch onto and chew over in his mind as he sat there at the window, waiting for something else to occupy his attention. Such a thing came one day when a gaggle of children rode through the courtyard on stout ponies. Their exuberant cries carried up to Loki, who pressed his face close to the lattice ironwork of the window to watch them ride. Horses were a rare sight in Jotunheim, being too small to serve the Frost Giants in any practical way. A few of the more distant pockets of Loki's people raised them for meat, or so he'd heard, but that was as far as horsemanship went among the Jotun. And so for Loki, who possessed an inquisitive nature, the sight of the little Aesir riding their ponies was naturally fascinating.

He watched the young boys trot along the edge of the courtyard, their chubby arms working to control their mounts. They appeared to be novices, shouting questions and bits of advice to each other as they went. One child, who had led his pony into the courtyard on a lead, attempted to heave himself up into the saddle but could not quite manage it. Loki watched him slip back to the ground several times. Poor little sod, his legs were just too short.

A familiar voice called out, the words muddled in the echoing square, and Loki saw the Odinson stride into view. A scowl crossed Loki's blue lips. Of course the ghastly Prince would spoil the only entertainment he'd had in ages. The mere sight of him was enough to make Loki wonder if he shouldn't give up his seat at the window and try, once more, to nap in the high, soft bed.

But before Loki could leave, he saw the Odinson lay a hand on the little boy's shoulder and bend down to speak to him. He seemed to be murmuring words of encouragement if the child's nodding head was anything to go by. Loki watched as the boy reached up with both arms, and Thor grabbed him about the middle to hoist him into the pony's saddle. Light as a feather, the child seemed in the Odinson's grasp. The boy was all smiles once he was seated, looking upon Thor with glowing admiration. The Odinson ruffled the brat's yellow hair, then, as if sensing eyes upon him, looked up to Loki's window.

Loki moved away perhaps a second too late to avoid being seen. He swallowed, standing there in the curtain's shadow. The Aesir Prince had said he desired children of his own, but even so, it was strange to see such a brute gently doting upon little ones. It made Loki wonder if Thor would ever be able to sire his wished-for brood; much would depend on the success of his plan, he supposed. If they could find their way out of this horrid marriage, the Odinson would be free to raise as many pale, tow-headed little monsters as he liked.

"Ah, is that horseplay I hear in the courtyard?" said a deep voice, startling Loki terribly.

"You mustn't move about so silently, Heimdall! You scared my heart into my throat."

"Apologies, Crown Prince," said the servant, though he didn't look very sorry. He shut the door behind him with a quiet click. "Were you watching the children practice their riding skills?"

"Well, there is very little else for me to do," Loki groused. Then, folding himself in a chair by the empty grate, he watched Heimdall deliver a tray bearing the midday meal. "What am I eating today?"

"Mutton with gilly root," Heimdall said.

Loki screwed up his face in displeasure. More meat. How he longed for a little slice of fish! Or a  bowl of steamed water-grass. Anything but this Aesir pablum. Still, he thanked Heimdall, for it wasn't his fault that the palace cooks were trying to fatten Loki like a calf. He set to hacking away the leanest bits with the provided fork.

"If you are bored, perhaps a turn about the grounds would do you some good," Heimdall suggested as he floated about the room, setting things to rights. "The Prince would be happy to escort you, of course."

"I would rather wither away in my cell, thank you," Loki said. He looked to the window, listening to the children's voices still echoing from the courtyard. The Odinson's boisterous laugh joined in, the sounds of gallivanting joy curdling Loki's mood even further.

Heimdall hummed knowingly as he twitched the washbasin back into place. "Why don't you learn to ride, Crown Prince?"

"What?" Loki's head snapped back to the servant. "Me? On a horse?"

"Why not? It would pass the time. You might even enjoy yourself, as outlandish as that may seem," Heimdall drawled.

Loki's thoughts shot ahead a million paces. Yes, learning to ride on horseback would indeed pass the time. It could also give Loki a better chance at escape. On foot, slipping free of the palace and Asgard would be nearly impossible. Mounted, perhaps his chances would improve.

"Could you teach me?" he asked Heimdall.

Heimdall laughed. "When I still had my eyes, I was an accomplished rider, but I fear I would be at a disadvantage now." He nodded toward the window. "However, if you seek a teacher, there is a very good one close at hand."

From the courtyard, Thor's voice rose in a silly roar. The children laughed loud and long.

Loki frowned like he'd tasted something sour. "The Odinson has nothing to teach me."

The Prince's man shrugged. "Thor has been riding since he came up to my knee. Much of what he knows, I taught him. I promise you, he would be the best choice if you wanted to learn. The only choice, really, as I don't think any other could be trusted to escort you."

Two competing forces warred in Loki's heart. On the one side, he was a stubborn creature, loath to break his chilly silence with the Odinson. But then again, if he could just swallow his pride, he had a chance to find his way out of this hellish mess. The latter won out, though it was a fierce fight.

Loki sighed. "Please ask the Prince if he would be so kind as to show me how to ride, and whether tomorrow might be convenient."

Heimdall seemed overjoyed by this in his own reserved way, his smile widening. "I will ask right away. I am sure his answer will be a happy one."

"Then I will need a riding habit, I suppose," Loki added. "Something black, if you would." The more clothes he amassed that might aid in a midnight escape, the better.

"Of course, Crown Prince," Heimdall said, and swept from the room to bear Loki's message to his master.

It was all arranged very swiftly. Heimdall returned in the evening with a dinner tray to tell Loki that Thor was very much looking forward to teaching him horsemanship early the next morning. Loki accepted the news—and his handsome new riding leathers—with quiet solemnity.

That night, when Loki lay in his lonely bed, he heard the Odinson enter and take a breath as if in preparation for speech, but perhaps thinking better of it, he kept silent and slunk over to the fireplace to sleep on his accustomed bit of floor. Loki breathed easier and slept well.

The next morning, Thor was gone from the room before Loki awoke. Loki breakfasted alone as usual and dressed in the black riding leathers. Heimdall seemed unduly pleased with himself, skimming about the room to see to his duties as Loki fastened the laces on his clothing.

"My Prince could scarcely sleep last night, so eager is he to show you the horses," he told Loki. "He was up before dawn, before even myself, to ready your mount for the day's lesson. It should be fine weather for a ride; I do hope you have a lovely time."

"I'm sure I will," Loki lied. "Would you show me the way to the stables, please?"

Heimdall guided him to the stable block, a low building carved of sweeping wood, and left him there with a hopeful smile. Loki stepped inside and took a deep breath. The strange scents of animals and hay filled his nostrils. He reminded himself that this lesson, as awkward as it was certain to be, would aid him in his escape. For the slim chance at freedom, he would have to endure the smells—and the company of the Odinson. He felt stalwart in his plan. Then Loki saw the horse and turned quite a pale blue.

Pretend for a moment that you had never seen a horse up close before. Perhaps you'd lived amongst a people who stood about twelve feet tall, and the descriptions you'd heard characterized them as smallish livestock bred only for their meat. In your mind horses would be on par with, say, chickens, and you would never have cause to think otherwise. Even children's ponies, when seen from a high window, would seem like manageable creatures.

Loki's practice mount was not a pony. It was a towering chestnut mare with a blaze of white down the face, already kitted out in a bridle and saddle of finely worked leather. Her huge nostrils puffed steam in the cool morning air, her hooves stamping at the packed earth. She made a noise like the steam wells of Jotunheim's southern plains, a screeching thing that turned blood to ice. Loki's eyes widened. It seemed incredible to him that he should attempt to ride such a thing. Loki was not a cowardly person, but you could excuse his trepidation. He had been expecting a slightly oversized chicken, after all. He took a step backward, fighting the deep-seated instinct that told him to run.

"It's all right," Thor said, appearing from a shadowed stall and catching the mare's reins in his hand. "Belle is the gentlest steed in the stable. She's a favorite of the little children; they ride her around a ring at festivals."

"Oh, so I'm to have an aging sack of bones as a mount?" Loki snapped, embarrassed to be caught blanching.

"Would you rather take Stormbreaker?" Thor pointed to a stall where a dappled grey stallion was currently kicking and biting at a stableboy who was affixing a saddle to his back. "He's temperamental but perhaps he would like you, since you have that in common." He did not wait for a retort, instead leading both horses into the stableyard, giving the boy a nod of thanks.

Loki glared at Thor and tossed his hair out of his eyes, following at a sedate pace. He was already regretting his decision to come. "Let's just get this lesson over with."

The Odinson gave a mocking bow, remained bent, and laced his fingers together to form a step. After a moment, Loki realized it was for him, so that he could climb into the saddle. And so he did, heaving himself onto the mare's broad back, much less elegantly than he would have liked. Once there, Thor showed him how to hook his feet into the stirrups and began his instruction.

"Sitting in the saddle is a bit like dancing," he said. "You need to keep an upright carriage, not too stiff but not slouched." He squinted up at Loki. "Do you dance? I realize I've never asked."

"Of course I dance," Loki spat. "I was raised at the great court of Jotunstad. I was dancing before I could walk."

"Then you will take to riding easily." Thor moved to hold the mare's head while instructing Loki further. "If you would pick up your reins, Crown Prince? A little more slack. Here, I can show you." He reached up to grasp Loki's fingers, but Loki refused his touch, jerking his hand away quickly.

Belle snorted at this unexpected tug.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Odinson," Loki said, his red eyes glinting in warning.

Thor shushed the horse and shrugged. "Very well," he said, and began telling Loki in great detail where he should place his fingers, and how he should position his feet, and where he should be looking and how he should be breathing. Loki tried to pay attention, but the novelty of sitting high atop such a large thing and being able to feel its flanks move with each breath was quite distracting.

"I'll never learn like this," he said when Thor tried to describe to him the different ways to urge the horse forward. "Let's go. I'll figure it out as we ride."

Thor stared off at some point in the distance like he questioned the wisdom of Loki's request, but he only said, "If you insist."

He caught Stormbreaker by a hank of his mane and swung himself up into the saddle in one smooth motion. The horse whinnied in anger and twisted beneath his rider as slippery as a serpent, but the Aesir Prince kept his seat and brought his mount under control with practiced manipulation of the reins. Loki watched this with wonder. It seemed to him that the Odinson was one wrong move away from being tossed off the stallion's back and stamped to death by those sharp hooves.

"Why ride such a dangerous creature when you have others that require less effort?" he asked.

Thor flashed him a smile as he urged Stormbreaker, calmer though still high-spirited, out of the stableyard. "All my efforts are worth it when it comes to this horse," he said. "As much trouble as he is, there are none faster or more clever." He leveled a droll look in Loki's direction. "Another way you are alike, perhaps."

Loki did not care for the comparison. He gingerly tapped his ankles to his mare's great bellowing sides, and the horse started forward in a slow, plodding manner. In fact, the mare was so mild and knew her business so well, Loki did not need to do much at all. In this way, Thor and Loki rode out of the palace grounds, through the surrounding village—still sleepy and mist-shrouded this early in the morning—and onto the road that led to the great wilderness beyond.

The forests of Asgard are widely recognized as some of the finest in creation. Ringed by majestic mountain peaks with their snowy caps, the valley is a paradise of pines and oaks and willow trees, shot through with crystal streams and little moss-covered hideaways. The tang of late autumn was in the air then, and the leaves fell in a blaze of sunset color. Every bower that Loki rode by seemed a perfect spot to fall asleep and be taken by the fairies into their fey kingdom—if one still believed in fairies, that is.

They spoke little as they traveled. At times, Thor would offer some comment about proper riding technique or the beauty of this or that vista, and Loki would respond in cool acknowledgement, which would cause the Odinson to lapse back into silence until the next attempt at engaging Loki in conversation.

"You see?" he said at one point as they neared a gently flowing brook. "You're as natural a rider as I'm sure you are a dancer." Stormbreaker stepped over the water, and Belle followed without any urging on Loki's part.

"Slathering it on a bit thick, aren't you?" Loki murmured. He concentrated on sitting upright in the swaying, bouncing seat of his saddle.

Thor had the grace to look chagrined at that. "I'm sorry. I only hoped to mend the bad feelings left between us when last we spoke. I thought, since you agreed to go riding with me, surely you felt the same…?"

Loki skewered him with a look. "You thought wrong," he said. "I certainly do not feel the same. I was only bored."

The Odinson's face clouded with anger, but it was chased away by a watery smile and a boyish shake of his head, long hair flapping in the breeze. "All right, Crown Prince. We've gotten off on the wrong foot, that much is true. Some of the blame is mine, I will admit it, but—"

 _"Some?_ " Loki choked out. "Are you joking? Which one of us is the prisoner here?"

Thor seemed to be keeping the smile on his face through careful effort. "It could be said that the both of us are prisoners. You, of course, quite literally, while I am a prisoner in my own home thanks to my sister's machinations. We have more in common than you realize, I think."

Loki snorted. "Yes, we're _so_ alike, you and I. Look at you, comparing your familial squabbles to my wretched situation. I've lost everything while you have gained a war prize!"

The Odinson went red in the face at that, his facade of goodwill crumbling. "I did not ask for you," he hissed. He leaned across the space that separated their two horses, Stormbreaker tossing his head in complaint at the unbalanced weight. "I never wanted this. Now every day a dozen courtiers beg me to detail your struggles in my bed. My own father calls me to his throne to give reports on how many times I have forced myself upon you, and how many times further I think it might take before you swell with my child. Do you have any idea what it's like to smile and laugh in the face of such horrors? To pretend to be your rapist, to boast about it with bile in my mouth?" He fell silent, his lip caught between his teeth, and turned away.

Loki watched him closely. He would not grant this beast the balm of his sympathy, but it seemed for a moment that his high emotion might not be a ruse. The Odinson looked genuinely sickened. Still—

"If you find it difficult to play the part of the brute, trade places with me," Loki said. "I am a captive of my enemy. You are only at the mercy of your own people's disgusting custom."

"Say not another word against my people," growled the Odinson. "They are not to blame for my sister's bastardized version of peace."

"Oh, of course! Everyone else in your nation, including yourself, is blameless," Loki snarled. "It must have been your sister who invaded Jotunheim single-handedly all those centuries ago, who slaughtered my kin and sent us running for safe haven—wait, she was not yet born! Who could it have been, then?" He scratched his cheek with his fingernail as if deep in thought. "Perhaps we merely imagined the carnage."

Thor halted his horse's progress, and Loki's followed suit as befitted her congenial nature. The argument continued in the middle of the forest path, surrounded by incongruous blooms and dazzling songbirds.

The Odinson's mouth hung open like a stupid cow's. "You mean the war? You would hold such an ancient thing against me?"

Loki's blood flared. "It is not so ancient when it was waged on my very doorstep up until my capture!"

"But—" Thor shook his head, his many yellow knots flying. "Crown Prince, the war between our peoples is not the fault of Asgard. Surely you must recognize that. We only fight the Frost Giants because of their vicious attack on the mortals of Midgard in defiance of our treaties."

"What!" Loki gave a shocked, mad laugh. When the Odinson showed no sign of joining in, he laughed all the louder. "Oh, this is rich! You really think my people went to Midgard to hunt the humans? Why would we do such a thing?"

"I don't know!" Thor's face was reddening again beneath his beard. "Cruelty? Greed? My father said—"

"Your father," Loki seethed, "brought the strength of his great army into my homeland to strike unprovoked! To kill my brothers!"

"Death has visited both sides. Such is war."

"No, Odinson. This was not a war. This was an invasion." Loki stabbed at the ground with his finger as if counting out his points. "Think, you lazy beast! If it was your people's intention to protect Midgard, then why not set up your defenses there? The Aesir sought to steal our land and take it for your empire. Your side may have lost some of its warriors, but we lost entire cities. Whole families— Children!" His red eyes were wet with tears, a glistening rage that overflowed his heart. "Untrained and defenseless babes. Or do you not care as long as they aren't of Asgard?"

A crystalline silence descended on the forest path. Thor stared at Loki, lips parted, eyes wide and unblinking. Loki dropped his gaze and tried to get his breathing back under control. He should not have shown his emotions like that; they were a weakness to be exploited if one was clever enough to do so.

At last the Odinson spoke. "If what you say is true," he said, "then it would be the worst villainy ever perpetrated."

"It's true." Loki's red eyes swung up to meet false blue. "Go to Jotunheim and speak to anyone you meet on the road. They will all say the same thing."

Thor lifted his brows and looked ahead on the path. "I'm afraid a trip to Jotunheim is not possible for me."

"Well." Loki sighed through his nose. "Believe me or don't. I cannot prove to you what your father has kept buried all these years. You can dig yourself." He tapped Belle with his heels, riding forward at a brisk trot.

They rode without speaking again until they returned to the palace in the early afternoon. They were met by Heimdall, who was waiting patiently at the gate.

"Did you enjoy the ride?" he asked Loki as he offered him a hand in dismounting.

Loki stalked away from him without a glance back at Thor or the horses. "Please send for a bath," he said instead of answering. "I need to scrub myself clean of this clinging filth."

"Ah. I see." Heimdall inclined his head and joined Loki on the trek back to his room. "It will be done at once, Crown Prince."

That night, polished and scalded from his bath, Loki sat atop his bed swaddled in fine linen robes. He wrapped his arms about his legs and peered into the fire that Heimdall had lit in the grate. What had he accomplished? He had been so incensed by his captor's ignorance that he'd neglected to retain the barest knowledge of horseback riding. Loki hadn't even learned how to saddle a mount, or how to get on the horse without assistance, or even which direction he should ride if he wished to find freedom. Instead, like a fool, he'd wasted the day haranguing the Odinson and then stewing in his anger. As if the oaf would ever listen to the truth!

He was contemplating another bout of tears when the door creaked open. Thor stood outlined in the yellow torchlight of the hall, his earlier riding leathers replaced by soft breeches and a red tunic. Loki clasped the neckline of his robe tight against his throat so that his golden collar was hidden from view.

"What do you want?" Loki said, too tired to inject all the hate he felt into the words. "It's a little early for your nightly performance, isn't it?"

The Odinson closed the door with a loud click, then leaned back against it, corded arms crossed over his chest. "I spoke to Heimdall," he said, eyes lowered.

Loki waited for more to be said, and when it seemed not to be forthcoming, he prompted, "Yes, and?"

Thor met his gaze. Loki wondered at the pain he saw there.

"He was there," said the Odinson, "when the war began. He saw everything."

Loki sat up a little straighter on his bed. Perhaps the day was not lost after all. "Did he tell you—?"

"You were right." Thor blinked, looked away to a dark corner. "It was all as you said, and worse. My father has allowed the truth to be hidden by time and lies. Buried, glossed over, too shameful to speak of. The things that were done in Asgard's name—" He cupped a hand over his mouth as if he might be sick from the thought. His white skin turned ashen under Loki's eyes.

"Do you expect me to give you consolation?" Loki asked. The knife's edge returned to his voice. This beast deserved not an inch from him. "Poor little Aesir, finally seeing the blood spattered across the length of his empire."

Thor dropped his hand. "I expect no consolation. I only wanted to say—" His blue eyes shone in the flickering fire. "There is nothing I can do to erase these sins, so I won't ask your forgiveness. But I swear to you, when my powers return and my sister is defeated, I will make recompense with Jotunheim. I will declare our actions the dishonor that they were, and I will promise that my people's swords will never again be raised to innocent throats. I will put it right however I can, or at least try." He stopped, swallowing. "My word must mean so little to you. Yet I have nothing else to give."

Loki weighed this speech against all of the Odinson's many defects. His calculations ran swiftly ahead. If the brute spoke true, it changed nothing. If he lied, well, two could play at pretending.

"You could give me another day's ride," Loki said at last.

Thor looked at him quickly, his eyes wide with surprise. "You wish to ride again? With me?"

One slim shoulder shrugged beneath Loki's light robes. "I enjoyed the change of scenery today, if not the company. Besides, you're finally beginning to sound like a creature of some intelligence." He tipped his chin up, proud and cold. "Teach me to ride properly and perhaps it will be the first step in your long path toward proving yourself."

The Odinson took three long strides toward Loki's bed, and at first Loki worried he might climb upon it, but the Prince only came to the bedside and bowed down on one knee before Loki, like a supplicant before a priest.

"Crown Prince, if you would do me the honor of allowing me to escort you tomorrow, I will show you the best my country has to offer," he said.

"Still a bit thick," Loki murmured. "Get up. You make me nervous, kneeling like that."

Thor rose to his feet, his cheeks spotted with high color. "I only meant—"

"Yes, yes. Tomorrow, then." Loki flapped a hand in the air.

A hearty nod from the Odinson, followed by a glance at the floor before the fireplace. "I will invade your quarters no longer," he said. "If my father aks, I will say you have surely taken enough of my seed and we must let you rest while my child grows within you." He grimaced, clearly still upset by the ruse.

Loki raised a brow. What had his uncle always said? Keep your helpmates close, your enemies closer still. If the beast planned some further deception, Loki would rather keep an eye on him.

"Don't be ridiculous," he told the Odinson. "You cannot say I'm with child and then take me horseback riding in front of all the stablehands. People will talk. Stay here, at least for now, and keep our lie intact." He tossed one of his many goose-down pillows to the flagstones. "There. For your empty head."

Thor picked up the pillow and clutched it to his breast, an unreadable look crossing his furred face. "Thank you, Crown Prince. Truly. It is more than I deserve."

"You're right. It is. Now go to sleep." Loki shoved his legs under his bedclothes and turned away on his side, ready to lead by example.

"Good night," Thor said as he made his bed upon the hard floor. "Sleep well."

Loki did sleep well, and dreamed deeply—dreamed of Asgard's dead Queen, her silken gown billowing in the cold Jotun wind, her lashes limed with frost.

"Who are you?" she asked over the howling wind. "Why do you see me?"

"I wish I knew, Lady of Magic," he answered. "To both those questions."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story!!! Is growing!!! MUCH too big! What was supposed to be one chapter is now three. What was supposed to be an easy 15K is now ??? Anyway, I'm upset. Please send help.


	5. Chapter 5

What did Loki the Small think of his dreams, where the lost Queen of Asgard visited him? Not much, I'm afraid. You may be the type, as Loki was, to awaken in the morning with the nagging memory of some strange dream already fading away at the edges of your mind. You might think on it for a moment or two, perhaps longer if the contents were very disturbing or vivid, but then the day begins. There's breakfast to eat, clothes to slip into, hair to comb. Life to live.

If Loki thought about the dreams of Frigga at all, he thought them unimportant. Just a pale shade seeking an audience, or more likely his overactive imagination. Nothing more, and certainly nothing as pressing as his plot to escape the prison of his forced marriage. 

And so it went that morning. Thor took Loki riding again as promised, and as before, he was up and gone from Loki's chamber before Loki awoke. As before, the horses were ready to depart when Loki arrived at the stable. And as before, the day proved sunny and bright after the morning mist lifted and the horses took them into the wilderness. 

But unlike before, Loki actually learned some useful things. 

They took a different way this time at Loki's urging, and Thor seemed happy to oblige. Stormbreaker and Belle carried them higher into the hills and craggy peaks, which gave Loki a better idea of the lay of the land. He rode up to the edge of a precipice to find Asgard spread out before him. All its grand palatial spires and gleaming workings—Loki fought to burn the sight into his brain so that he might remember each landmark and twisting road. 

"What is that?" Loki asked, pointing to the many-hued bridge that spanned the distance between the shores of the capital and some little island set with a crowning citadel. 

"That is the rainbow path that leads to the Bifrost," Thor said. "Through it, a person may be transported across worlds, even galaxies." His eyes softened and filled with a troubled look. "You were brought here in its light the day you were taken from Jotunheim."

Loki recalled the colors that had enveloped him during his capture, and how he'd suddenly found himself in Asgard, clapped in his magical chains. He had to grit his teeth to contain himself at the memory. "Ah, yes. A marvel, indeed. How does it work?"

"The exact details are beyond me," Thor said, "but I have traveled by it many times. Its guardian is told where you must be sent, and through its clever workings, it sends you." He frowned and shook his head. "Many years ago, Heimdall was that guardian, but since he was stripped of his rank, another has taken his place."   

"One loyal to your sister?" Loki guessed. 

Thor snorted in derision. "Skurge is loyal only to himself," he said, then tugged at the reins to guide Stormbreaker away from the outlook. "Come, let's move on." 

Loki urged his horse to follow, but his mind was already moving ahead. If the current watcher of the Bifrost was corruptible, that boded well for Loki's escape. One well-placed bribe could have Loki a world away in moments. But he would need something valuable to tempt this Skurge; ten pieces of silver would not be enough. 

He came abreast of the Odinson's horse, eyeing that bearded profile. Perhaps a little sweetness would go a long way to getting what he wanted. 

"It's my understanding, Son of Odin," Loki said in a honeyed voice, "that in your culture married people often give each other gifts."

"Yes," said Thor, "to show affection or to mark some notable occasion." His face underwent a series of shifts, landing somewhere on concerned. "Your people do not do the same?"

"Not really." Loki shrugged. He needn't go into the reasons for that—the reasons being, of course, that the Jotuns had lived for several generations under the austerity brought on by the war. As such, lavish shows of wealth were considered tasteless and gaudy among the Jotun. Precious materials were hardly ever seen in that land. Even Laufey their King wore only a crown of wood and bone. "But it sounds like a very charming tradition," Loki added. "Gold and gems and pearls and all…."

"Tell me of your own traditions," Thor said instead of offering to procure gifts for Loki as Loki had hoped. "I would learn more of your world, if you do not mind the teaching."

Loki grimaced, but quickly hid it with a bright smile. "How wonderful that you would care to know of my people. Let's see…you know we do not wed as Aesir do?"

The Odinson nodded as he guided Stormbreaker through a break in the trees, leading them into the deep forest. "I am dimly aware, but I'm afraid my knowledge has some gaps. Do the Jotun keep many wives?"

Loki tipped his head and spoke as they rode along. "Well, instead of husbands or wives, we say helpmates. A person might have three or four helpmates at any given time, though some of course have more or less. An uncle of mine, in fact, is quite legendary; fifty-three, I believe, last I checked."

Thor whistled. "How does your uncle manage such a harem? If harem is the right word."

"It's not," Loki said. "You're still thinking in terms of men and women, I'm afraid. It's not my uncle's place to manage his helpmates; ideally, they all work together to manage themselves and all the children. It's right there in the name, you know."

"Helpmate." Thor mouthed the word as if tasting its shape. "I'm sorry, it's just so different from how I was raised. It may take me a moment to understand, but it seems like a pleasing way of doing things. Much like warriors come to rely on each other, I imagine. A large family not necessarily bound by blood."

"Yes, it's perhaps a bit like that." Loki navigated his mare around a thicket of fragrant berries. Must get back on track, he thought. "But with all those people in a household, gift-giving sometimes falls by the wayside. In fact—" 

The Odinson interrupted. "How do you keep track of parentage if you are not wed one to one?"

"Oh, I don't know," Loki murmured. "Can the Aesir claim to know the parentage of their own children beyond a doubt? You might stray, might you not?"

Thor looked positively scandalized at the assertion. "Not while I possess a shred of decency!" 

Loki clicked his tongue. "You see the Jotun way as very indecent, then? Sires and dams flitting from bed to bed like bees among the flowers?"

"No, of course not." The Odinson paled. "I only meant it's different for me. It's— A handfasting should mean something, is all!" 

"Even if one was forced into it?" Loki lifted an eyebrow.

Thor quieted at that. "I can only speak for myself: I would not darken another's bedroom door while bound to you, even though our marriage was not of our choosing. To do so would be an insult to that poor stand-in—and to you as well. And I have insulted you enough, I think. I will not do so again if I can help it." 

Loki was so startled by this declaration, he halted Belle in her tracks and did not walk her forward even as she snorted and stomped. The Odinson was determined to remain chaste while their marriage stood? It went against everything Loki knew of his vile, brutish race. And to think that this beast cared for Loki's non-existent reputation! 

Thor, too, stopped a few lengths ahead and turned in his saddle. His pale eyes squinted in question. "What's wrong, Crown Prince?"

Loki shook himself and started forward again, trying to concentrate on his real task. He would need to learn how to outrun pursuers if he wanted to escape. "I was only wondering why you have yet to show me how to ride at anything faster than a canter." 

Thor grinned. "I can remedy that."

And so the next few hours were spent in a grassy field beyond the wood, where the Odinson instructed Loki in how to gallop outright. Loki took to the practice quickly enough, and it seemed that the earth beneath his horse's pounding hooves fell away. The wind whipped Loki's loose black locks, longer now since his capture, brushing well past his jaw. His eyes watered, his pulse leapt. It felt like flight.

It felt like freedom. 

"Do you love it?" Thor shouted above the lashing wind as he rode next to Loki, the two of them racing across the field as fast as Belle's old legs would allow. 

"I do!" Loki called back. A smile touched his lips, a rare occurrence in those days, and the realization made him whoop at the sky.

Soon, he thought. Soon I will be free. 

If he had bothered to turn his head toward the Odinson, Loki would have found the strangest look painted across his face. Some might call it wonder, but who's to say? The sight of Loki smiling, a blur of blue all dressed in black, gold flashing at his wrists and throat where his bands peeked out, could have been just an amusing one. 

They rode the horses hard to the edge of another precipice and stayed there to catch their breath. They spent the time gazing upon the fine view. There was a waterfall that tumbled down a green cliff across the way, and its mist threw rainbows into the air. Everything smelled of life and wet. Loki found he liked it.

You must remember that Loki had been raised as the most privileged of the Jotun are. Though that land can be desolate and often unforgiving, Jotunheim had been a place where a royal like Loki could have the things he liked whenever he liked them. And so it was his custom, upon finding he liked a thing, to have it—lots of it—without thinking too much about his reasons.

"Let's do this again," he said, surprising himself when he realized that  _ this _ would involve more of the Odinson's company. 

Thor seemed just as shocked, his eyes wide as he looked away from the cataract. He recovered his composure with a ready grin. "Of course, Crown Prince. We should enjoy the weather while it lasts. Soon winter will set in and riding will not be such an easy pleasure."

"Is that so?" Loki considered the timing of the thing. He still wished to gain a little more knowledge of horses, their tack and all, as well as the best route to take for his escape. And he had to accomplish this before the season turned too harsh. "Then we should certainly make our plans while we can. Tomorrow, if you are not otherwise occupied?"

"Tomorrow would be perfect." Thor smiled, a silly, hopeful thing.

Loki almost felt pity for the beastly fool. Almost. They turned their mounts back down the path and headed back to the palace.

That evening, when Loki was disrobing in preparation for his bath, he noticed his leather riding breeches were spotted inside with sticky blood. He palmed himself between his legs, and his fingers came away tipped in red. 

"Heimdall?" he said in a strangled voice. 

The man did not look up from where he was filling the steaming tub with scented salts and oils. "Yes, Crown Prince?"

"I— I think I might be injured." Loki held up his hand quite uselessly. "I'm bleeding." 

"Oh?" Heimdall's cloudy eyes finally rose. "Where?" 

Loki told him, though the embarrassment threatened to undo him. "I must have ridden too hard," he said once he'd explained. His voice rose in its fearful pitch. "Something could be punctured. I didn't even notice; I thought the aches and pains were normal." 

"They are," Heimdall assured. "You've just— Well, how do I put it?" His mouth worked as if searching for the words. "It's quite common for young ladies when they are learning to ride. It happened to Lady Sif when I was instructing her, I believe. It's only your maidenhead. It's been broken by all that jostling in the saddle." 

Loki heaved a sigh of relief. "Is that all? Fucking Hel, I thought I was dying!" He had not relished the thought of facing whatever passed for medicine on Asgard.

"No, you should be fine, Crown Prince. If your body isn't too different from what I know, you will only be a little sore. Come, a bath will help," said Heimdall, and held out his arm to assist Loki into the tub. 

The hot water enveloped Loki's overtaxed body, and he hissed as it touched every tender part. It was actually for the best to have lost his veil in this fashion, he thought. Now if Odin ordered Aesir midwives to examine him, Loki's body would not betray them. 

"Will you report this little humiliation to the Odinson?" Loki asked the manservant, eyes on the water. 

Heimdall snorted. "Why should I? My Prince need not know such a private thing. Although," he gave a cheeky smile, "it might amuse him to hear that you've lost your virginity to one of his horses." 

Loki splashed him with a wave of bathwater while Heimdall chortled like a songbird. 

"You'll tell him no such thing! Swear it!"

"I swear, I swear," Heimdall laughed. 

The following day's ride contained many important lessons for Loki. He insisted on being shown how to mount Belle without a helping hand—as a matter of pride, ostensibly—and the Odinson pointed out the stack of wooden blocks kept in a corner of the stable meant for just that purpose. Loki then feigned innocent interest in the horse's bridle and saddle, so of course Thor showed him how to properly outfit Belle with her tack from start to finish. Once they were underway, there was the matter of the palace gate. A few well-placed questions and Loki discovered that there were several, and Thor was taking this particular one because it was less crowded than the others. The eastern one, he said, was set aside for the merchants and their many deliveries, which meant that gate was kept open around the clock, even far into the night.  

All this was filed away in Loki's mind for his imminent escape as the clueless Odinson blathered on, helpfully explaining every detail. So focused was he on his own practical matters that Loki neglected to notice the packs lashed to the Odinson's saddle until around midday, when Thor halted Stormbreaker in the center of a soft, shaded meadow and said, "Perhaps here?"

"Here for what?" Loki asked as he reined in Belle. 

"Our meal." Thor alighted on the ground and began unpacking the saddlebags, which contained a thick blanket and little woven food baskets. "I thought it would be nice to eat outside."

It seemed ludicrous to be having a picnic with the Odinson, his enemy and captor, but Loki forced himself to smile as he dismounted. The Aesir Prince couldn't suspect the shape of his plans. 

"What an excellent idea," Loki said, hiding his disgust at the thought of eating yet another slab of lamb or beef or pork, and cold at that.

Imagine his complete shock when Thor lifted the woven lids to reveal the sorts of delicacies familiar to the Jotun palate: fruits dusted in sugar, white pieces of fish laid atop fragrant green leaves, cakes soaked in honey and studded with nuts, and Loki's childhood favorite, a salad of salted seagrass tossed with oil and sprinkled with bits of crispy spring onions. 

The Odinson looked anxiously upon Loki, taking in his wide red eyes and parted blue lips. "I asked the cooks to recreate Jotun dishes," he explained. "One said he'd been a prisoner of war for a time and had become acquainted with that style of cooking. Some ingredients are impossible to find in Asgard, so the food may not be quite right, but..." He busied himself in taking a wineskin from the saddlebag. "I hope it's not too far from your tastes."

Loki recovered his tongue. "It certainly looks delicious," he said. He sat upon the spread blanket, legs knotted, gazing hungrily at the fare on offer. Realizing that the beast would probably expect some kind of simpering praise for the effort, Loki added, "Thank you. You needn't have gone through so much trouble on my account."

"It was no trouble. The cooks were the ones who did the work." Thor dug two sets of utensils from his bag. "And if the food tastes off, blame me for setting such an impossible task for them." He handed Loki a wooden fork and knife, which Loki received with undisguised delight.

"These are very like the set I used to own," he marvelled. 

"Yes, I was told by the same cook that highborn Jotun often ate with wooden tools. I couldn't find a set in your size, so I carved them myself." Thor placed his own utensils upon the blanket, then tied the horses to some nearby trees, calling, "Please! Eat!"

But Loki did not eat, instead staring at the little hand-carved utensils in his hand. Now that he knew it was the Odinson who'd fashioned them, all their defects became readily apparent. The tines of the fork were not quite even, and the handle of the knife was just a touch away from perfectly straight. Woodcarving is prized among the Jotun as high art, of course, owing to the many long winters that need to be filled with some useful project; these little tools did not pass muster in Loki's eyes. But there was something dear about them, the attempt of them, and Loki turned them over in his hands to catalogue every childish flaw.

"Did I get something wrong?" Thor asked when he returned and saw the food was untouched. He sat upon his knees in the Aesir style, a bit like prayer. 

Loki looked up swiftly from his study of the wooden fork and knife. "No, only—" He had to cast about for some reason for his immobility. "We should taste it together. It's the polite thing to do."

"Yes, of course." Thor dug his fork into a slice of fish and awkwardly lifted the morsel toward his mouth. 

Loki took his own dainty bite and chewed. It wasn't the exact flavor as his homeworld's fish, but it was close enough. And it wasn't mutton, so clearly a vast improvement. Nicely seasoned, not overcooked. All told, quite pleasant.

Thor, meanwhile, frowned as his fork wavered and the fish fell to the blanket. "Sorry," he muttered, trying to spear the fish again but only succeeding in breaking it into smaller pieces. "I don't have much practice eating this way."

A laugh was smothered behind Loki's hand. "So why are you using a fork? You could just eat with your fingers as usual." Loki popped a forkful of cake into his mouth. Oh yes, the honey flowed over his tongue just as it should. 

"I wanted to eat your food in the proper way. I thought it might put you at ease," Thor said. He brushed his failed attempt from the blanket and instead stabbed a piece of fruit. He paused with the fruit almost to his lips, then lowered it. "Or is the attempt itself an insult? Forgive me, Crown Prince, it seems no matter what I do—"

"Oh, do stop fretting." Loki rolled his eyes. "Can't I just enjoy my meal without having to worry about your fragile feelings?" 

The Odinson stared, then at last took his bite of fruit. "Of course. Apologies. I will stop asking you to manage me. It's not your burden."

"Certainly not." Loki ate and tried to appreciate the food despite the low quality of his dining companion. The foul, unwashed Aesir Prince, trying to eat like a Giant of high rank! Loki found it too hilarious. He glanced up to confirm his inner thoughts of the brute and slowed in his chewing as he took in Thor properly. 

Now that he was searching for the signs of the Odinson's beastliness, Loki realized that the man was actually turned out quite nicely today, strangely enough. His riding leathers were waxed and buffed to a high, dark gleam, and his boots also shone with fresh polish. His cloak was the usual red but it looked brand new, not the ragged mess he'd worn before, and was gathered at one shoulder in careful pleats. Even the ogre's yellow hair was arranged differently—one sleek knot at the back with the rest hanging loose to frame his face. 

It was almost as if the Odinson had tried to look  _ nice _ for their ride. The idea nearly caused Loki to choke. What possible reason could the brute have, he wondered, to try to make a good impression? He'd lost his chance for that long ago. 

Loki watched as Thor attempted to balance a haystack of the seaweed salad atop his fork. Such an oaf. More food was spilling off the thing than would reach his tongue. He was wasting the best bits!

"Here, like this," Loki said, sliding the tines of his own fork into the strands of green and black and twisting, twisting, twisting until a neat bundle formed 'round them. He held the utensil aloft to show the Odinson how easy it was. 

"That's so clever," Thor said, and copied Loki's movements. 

Loki ate his bite of salad, glad for the comforting taste, and swallowed before saying, "It's not as if I invented it."

"I know," Thor said through a mouthful of salad, then, lifting his hand in front of his mouth in delayed politeness, added, "but whoever did was surely thinking." He smiled, his grin extending past the hand he still held up. 

Loki let loose an exasperated sigh and ate more salad. Thor drank from the wineskin and, wiping his mouth on his arm, passed it to Loki. Loki hesitated to put his lips to the place where the Odinson's had so recently been, but he decided with a little shrug that wine was worth the indiscretion. They passed the wineskin back and forth, and so whiled away an hour in the soft, shaded glen, eating and drinking together in a sort of easy silence.

Such a chummy atmosphere, in Loki's opinion, was a good place to press for some token of value. He still needed something for the toll he'd have to pay at the Bifrost. He drank more wine and passed the skin to Thor, allowing their fingers to brush. 

"I've been thinking," he said. "Do you imagine you might give me a gift of some sort? Something to show your father and his courtiers that you are well and truly preoccupied with your consort? Since it is your custom and all." 

Thor did not raise the wineskin to his lips, only stared over it with those falsely melting blue eyes. "A gift?" he croaked. 

"Yes, just a little something to keep the ruse going," Loki said. 

The Odinson blinked at the wineskin in his hand, at the blanket upon which they sat, at the empty baskets carrying only the few remaining crumbs of their meal. And finally, he looked at the two little sets of wooden utensils, leaning against each other in the cake basket. 

"This was your gift," Thor said. "Did you not—?" He reddened beneath his beard. "Was it not to your liking?" 

"Oh!" Loki started. The day's events had been intended as a gift? To him? "This was— I mean, the meal was certainly lovely. And these." He picked up his new wooden fork. "I appreciate them, I do. But—" 

"I asked the tutors who are purported to know such things," Thor barreled onward. "They told me a Jotun would sneer at gold or silver, that a ruby would be tantamount to a slap in the face. So I thought to give you something you might enjoy, in accordance with your own customs." He set the deflated wineskin on the blanket and rested his fists on his knees. "If I have erred in this—" 

"It's fine," Loki blurted out. "This whole day was...fine. I only thought, if I had some little thing that could be shown off…." He stopped, wondering why he should be so concerned with soothing Thor's ego. This was a practical matter. "Your people will not understand this gift. The food, the utensils, the ride—they'll not see what it means to me, even if you try to explain. You must give me something publicly, something obvious to their way of thinking. Otherwise, they will imagine that you've perhaps lost interest in your new consort. And we wouldn't want that, would we?"

The Odinson's brow furrowed. "I suppose not." Then, turning away toward the south, he stared off into the distance as if hearing something only his ears could follow. "We should ready the horses. A storm is coming this way."

Loki looked up at the cloudless, blue sky and laughed. "What are you talking about? There's no sign of rain." He wondered if the beast was just eager to leave his company. 

"Can't you smell it?" Thor pointed to the south, but Loki could only see blameless sky and the trees of the forest. "There, on the wind." 

Loki shrugged. If the brute insisted they leave, they would leave. He collected the food baskets and the carved utensils and helped Thor pack everything away in the saddlebags. By the time they were finished, sure enough, black thunderheads were blotting out the sun and lightning flashed jagged in the distance.

"Amazing," Loki said, squinting into the cool wind of the storm. "You must sense these things before the rest of us can." 

"It's no magic, if that's what you're thinking." Thor tightened a strap on Stormbreaker's pack. "I only know it well from years of close company. Anyone can learn if they have the inclination and the time." He tipped his head back to study the sky. "My best guess? We won't outrun it. Let's find shelter and wait it out." 

"What?" Loki scoffed. "It's just a little rain. Do you always hide at the first sign of trouble?" Just then, a bolt of lightning split the sky in two and momentarily gave enough light to shame the sun. Loki jumped at the loud crack of thunder. 

Thor seemed hard-pressed to hide his smirk. "Would you rather make the journey back to the palace soaking wet?" 

Loki placed a hand along Belle's stalwart flank. "Well, we shouldn't let this old girl catch her death. Shelter is a fine plan." 

The Odinson apparently knew the area well, and led the horses to a shallow cave, more of an overhang of rock, really. It wasn't much, but it would at least keep them dry and in the lee of the wind. Loki selected the flattest stone he could find as a perch along the back wall. He watched from his seat as Thor secured the horses and calmed them by stroking their long faces. 

The rain began pouring all at once in great gushing sheets. Loki tracked the progress of puddles along the grassy ground as they grew and merged and overflowed into instant streams. The lightning was impressive, great ice-white flashes among the clouds and thunderous claps as their heralds. Loki was no stranger to blizzards and ice-storms, of course, but rain was something of an exotic animal to him, and so he marvelled at its capricious nature and brutal beauty.  

Thor leaned one arm along Stormbreaker's back and watched the rain as well. "It may be the last we have of the season," he said. "It's getting cold now. Can you feel it? A few more days, tonight even, and we may have snow instead." 

"So quickly?" Loki asked. Indeed, the storm had brought a chill with it, and his breath now misted in front of his lips as it had that morning. It might hasten his plans into motion. "I wouldn't think such a swift change possible."

Thor was silent, then lifted his hands to unclasp his red cloak. "If you would pardon me, Crown Prince," he said, "I will leave you here for the moment."

"What do you mean, leave?" Loki demanded. 

The Odinson did not elaborate, only folded his cloak over his horse's back and then unlaced his leather tunic. Loki averted his eyes as the tunic came off. What was this horrible boor doing, undressing himself like that right in front of Loki? Such immodest behavior would never be tolerated in Jotunheim. 

But this was not Jotunheim; this was rain-soaked Asgard, and the Odinson, once naked to the waist, stepped out from the little cave and into the storm. 

"Are you mad?" Loki called after him, but received no answer. 

Thor walked through the rising water, his yellow hair soaked dark, his milky skin now slick with rain. He stopped a few yards off and merely stood. Loki thought perhaps he was investigating something there in the wood, but after a space of time, the Odinson tilted his face up toward the raging storm and welcomed the rain. His eyes were closed in something like a holy rite, which Loki wisely decided not to interrupt. He only watched, and Thor only stood.

This lasted as long as the worst of the weather. Eventually, the storm, buffeted by high winds, passed by to the north. The sun shone once more. The forest, like Thor himself, was dripping and quiet. 

With a little nod to the sky, Thor returned to the shelter of the cave and retrieved his cloak, wiping his damp face with it. 

"Apologies. I know it must seem odd," he said, "but I will not have the chance to feel the rain again until Spring." 

Loki regarded him closely. "Why do you love it so much? The storms, I mean. You do not control them any longer; shouldn't it be painful to see them going on without you?"

Thor gave a soft smile as he shrugged into his clothes. "Perhaps it used to, when I was first stripped of my power. Now I think I can only truly love a thing when I realize I do not control it. I never did. I was only allowed the privilege of borrowing the thunder. I pray one day to regain that privilege, and when I do, I will not mistake it for a divine right ever again." He paused in affixing his red cloak to his shoulder and asked, "Are you cold? I could give this to you if you like."

Though the air was chilly, Loki found he was quite warm. "Thank you, but no. Let's get back to the palace." 

And so they did. Loki had much to think about as they rode. Not just his plan of escape, but also this new side to his captor. A beast who loved the rain. 

That evening, Loki was just about ready to dress for bed when Heimdall arrived at his chamber door. 

"My Prince requests your presence at the Allfather's feast table," he said. "Several members of the court are dining with the royal family tonight, and Thor has something he would like to present to you before them."

Finally, Loki thought. My asked-for gift. "Lead the way," he said.

The Allfather's table was indeed well-stocked that night with brightly dressed courtiers and advisors, all clambering for the attentions of their King. Hela was there as well, but seemed uninterested in anything but her wine goblet. She did not even look up at Loki's entrance. Thor did, however, and immediately waved Loki over to his side. 

The Odinson stood at Loki's approach and thumped his knuckles on the table. The hum of conversation fell away as the assembled gave the Aesir Prince their attention. 

"For the royal consort," said the Odinson, "my husband and favorite, I wish to present this little token of my fidelity." He took from his cloak a small velvet bag tied with a silver ribbon and placed it in Loki's hand. 

Loki dutifully opened the gift. It was a figure of a horse rampant made of solid gold and set with sapphires for a saddle and rubies for its eyes. A vulgar thing, shining and overbright, but it was not difficult to feign delight when he knew the horse would pay his way to freedom. 

"It's lovely," he said to Thor. "Thank you."

"A good practice," boomed Odin, "to shower your consort with riches. A happy consort will bear many sons."

"Sons!" crowed the courtiers at the table. They lifted their cups and competed for the most bombastic toast in honor of the Allfather's forthcoming grandsons. 

In the commotion, Thor leaned in close to Loki to whisper, "Is it obvious enough?" 

"Perfectly," Loki whispered back. 

The Odinson smiled. "I know it's not to your tastes but at least it might remind you of our riding lessons."

Loki blinked. Did Thor mean to make even this tawdry exchange an opportunity to soften him up? 

"Yes," he said, cautious, "it will indeed." He glanced down in what he hoped was a demure gesture. "Shall I return to my quarters now, Odinson?" he asked loudly so that all might hear. 

"I have half a mind to retire with you. Father?" Thor turned to Odin in question.

The King waved them away. "Yes, go. Enjoy your gifts, the both of you." 

Loki suppressed a shiver of disgust. Thor took him by the elbow to lead him away. As they passed by Hela at the end of the table, she leveled a calculating look at Loki. 

Did she suspect? Did she know? 

Loki's heart pounded into his throat. Winter was upon them and so was Hela. He had to act. Now. Tonight. He might not get a better chance to escape. Everything was in place: the horse, the gate, the path, the bribe, the silver for a blacksmith. All he had to do was leave his room in the dead of night and—

His room. With the door that locked every time it closed. 

Loki looked sharply over at the Odinson. They were nearly to his chambers. He had to do something, and quick. His mind raced. What lie could he craft to get what he wanted?

They reached Loki's chamber door, and Loki watched as Thor unlocked it with his key. The key was then secreted back into a pouch on his belt. All this Loki noted closely. 

Once they were inside the room and the door was shut, Loki screwed his courage to the sticking point and turned to the Odinson, embracing him with fierce strength, pressing them tight together. 

"Wha—?" The Odinson froze. "Crown Prince, are you well?"

"I wanted to thank you," Loki murmured into his ear. "This imprisonment has been a torment. But these past few days with you— They were good days." All the best lies, of course, contain a sliver of truth. He sighed. "You probably think me very silly."

"No, no, not at all." The Odinson's thick arms rose and engulfed Loki in turn. "I understand. After everything I've said and done—all my kingdom has done—you are very generous to allow me the pleasure of your company. It is I who should be thanking you."

Loki disentangled himself from Thor's embrace, stepping back with a smile. Hidden between his fingers was the key he'd palmed from Thor under the pretense of their closeness. 

"We will call it even, then." He nodded to the point beyond Thor's shoulder. "Would you mind turning around so I might change into my sleeping robes?"

"Of course!" Thor turned swiftly to face the corner. 

Loki took the opportunity to make a small bundle out of a pillowcase. His pieces of silver, the golden horse, and the key. After a moment's hesitation, he added to the bundle his set of wooden utensils, which Thor had carved by hand. Then he changed back into his riding leathers, the better to be ready at a moment's notice.

"If the weather continues to be foul tomorrow," Thor said to the wall, "would you like to accompany me on a tour of the grounds? There are some rooms that you might find interesting, I think."

"Yes, that sounds lovely." But Loki was only half-listening, too busy hiding himself and his bundle under the bedclothes. Once he was certain all was covered from the neck down, he cleared his throat. "Well, good night then." He tossed Thor his customary pillow. 

Thor turned back and retrieved it from the floor. "Until tomorrow," he said, and blew out the tapers before making his own bed on the flagstones. 

Loki waited until the Odinson's light snores filled the room, then slipped out of bed and gathered his things. The embers of the fireplace cast a warm glow through the room, enough to see Thor's face relaxed in sleep, lips parted, hair wild. Loki wasted a moment to watch him. Just to ensure he slept deeply, of course. 

I should smother him before I leave, Loki thought. That would buy me more time. 

But Loki the Small did not murder the Odinson while he slept. He only looked at him for a long moment, then unlocked the door and disappeared into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying it, please comment! Share! Rec! Anything!


	6. Chapter 6

That night only a thin sliver of one moon hung in the sky, casting all in darkness and aiding Loki in his escape. He made his way to the stables on bare feet, his boots in his hands and his bundle of valuables secured to his belt. He met no one on the way. A thick hooded cloak of fur hung on a peg by the stable door, and Loki took it for protection against the chill. He also took the mare that Thor had taught him to ride and readied her quietly. The brute would be furious when he discovered Loki's mode of escape, but by then, Loki planned to be long gone.

He rode out of the merchants' gate, which was open as promised at this late hour. Carts bustled in and out with their pots of milk and heaps of washing and fragrant fruit, and Loki was not noticed, clothed as he was in his fur cloak with its deep hood covering his head. He directed the mare into the wilderness, following the path that Thor had taken with him only the day before.

Loki put miles of road behind him as he journeyed deeper into the thick mountain forest. The twin streams of his breath and his mount's misted into the air. Just as the Odinson had predicted, winter arrived in all her frozen glory. Snow began to fall, light as feathers at first and then harder, thicker. It stung as it pelted his cheeks, but Loki rode on. A little cold wouldn't stop the Crown Prince of Jotunheim. He was determined to make it to the Bifrost. By this time tomorrow, he thought, he would be far away from Asgard and its terrible denizens and its bloody politics and—

And its beast of a Prince.

Loki's gloved hands tightened on his horse's reins. He would never see the brute again. So what? Good riddance. The sight of his rough face and strange eyes was horrible, anyway. Loki wouldn't miss it, would barely remember it after some time had passed. These weeks spent as the Odinson's captive soon would be nothing more than a faded memory.

Loki was so deep in thought over how little he would think about Thor that he did not hear the low growls that followed him through the woods, threading in and out of the trees. The mare, however, heard them, and her eyes rolled as she cantered sideways in an attempt to avoid her pursuers. Loki rushed to calm the horse and saw too late that he was being hemmed in by a pack of wolves.

You may think, as Loki had, that you know wolves. You may have seen them while on a hunt, or stuffed and displayed in some noblewoman's atrium. Put those wolves from your mind, for these wolves were of Asgard and very different from ones you may have encountered. They were huge. Monstrous. The stuff of nightmares.

Loki saw their hulking black shapes flitting through the shadows of the forest, easily twice as large as the white wolves that roamed the ice flats of Jotunheim. Fear knotted in his throat. He caught a glimpse of sharp fangs glistening with spittle, and his ears picked up the sound of the pack's snarls.

"Steady," he whispered to his mare, but the horse was already dancing backward, then rearing up with a frightened whinny. Loki cried out and clung to the reins with all his strength, but he was still a novice rider and the skill required to control a panicked mount was beyond him yet. He tried desperately to think as wolves snapped at his heels and at his horse's flanks. Gentle Belle lost her remaining nerve. She reared again, more violently this time, and tossed Loki from the saddle.

Loki landed hard in the snow, his breath knocked from his lungs. He scrambled away from the horse's stamping hooves and prayed that he wouldn't be trampled to death. Instinctively his hand went to his belt and the bundle of items that still hung there, but they would do nothing to save him now. The horse turned and galloped away down the forest path. Loki watched her retreat with wide, fearful eyes.

(If you worry for the mare's fate, be easy in the knowledge that she was found wandering in a snowy field by a very sweet farmgirl, and lived out the remainder of her days on that lovely plot of land. Understandable, this concern of yours, but perhaps you could spare some of it for Loki. Back to him!)

The wolves surrounded Loki, howling, calling for more of their number. The pack grew larger, dark shapes melting out of shadows as they advanced. Loki backed away from them like a crab until he was pressed against the rough bark of a tree. Could he climb? He looked up at the dark spread of branches above his head. They were too high to reach. The largest wolf in the pack stalked toward him, its foul breath ghosting from its jaws close enough to caress Loki's face.

Loki shut his eyes. For a moment, he saw death coming for him, and he prayed it would at least be swift.

But then an unholy roar echoed through the woods, and Loki's eyes snapped open. There before him was a shape, something as big as the wolves and just as ferocious. It barreled into the pack leader and flung it aside as if it were nothing more than a lapdog. Its packmates set upon the intruder with furious barking. A flash of red caught Loki's eye as the shape turned.

It was Thor. Unarmed and wild, strange eyes a fevered blue as he faced his attackers. He let loose another battle cry as a wolf bit into his arm. It hung on until Thor succeeded in shaking it loose, but by then the other wolves had scented out his weak points. Loki watched, frozen in horror, as the animals attacked as one. They tore at Thor's clothes and bit at his limbs, and though Thor fought, he was soon overwhelmed by their sheer numbers.

They would tear him apart, Loki knew. An unnamed urgency possessed him. He looked about in desperation until he spotted a thick log resting on the ground nearby. Loki hefted the thing in his hands and swung as hard as he could at the head of the wolf that had Thor's wrist in its jaw. The creature yelped in pain and ran off into the shadows.

Thor fought the rest with his bare fists, pulling one wolf away by the scruff of its neck, kicking the other in its ribs. At last the pack retreated, whining and howling as they loped deeper into the woods to lick their wounds.

Loki stood there, still clutching his log, afraid they might return. For a long moment, the only sounds in that dark glen were the heavy pants of his breathing and Thor's. The snow fell in a thick, silent swirl around them. Loki tore his gaze from the shadow in which the final wolf had disappeared and looked at Thor.

Thor was staring at him, mouth agape, bloody and bruised, hair coming loose from its knot. One hand was pressed hard against his side. Loki could see his tunic was torn there. Cruel half-moon bite marks dotted Thor's skin. The log fell from Loki's slack grasp and hit the ground with a thud.

Thor took a step toward Loki, his breathing labored. "Are you…?" He blinked. Swayed on his feet. "Are you all right?"

Loki didn't even have time to answer before Thor's eyes drifted shut and he collapsed to the forest floor, his golden hair and ragged red cloak fanning out in the snow.

"Thor!" Loki rushed over and kneeled at his side, heedless of the cold leaching into his legs. Patches of snow were growing red with Thor's blood. "No, no, no." He took Thor's face in his hands and patted his cheek, but those blue eyes did not open.

Ever since Loki had been captured and rendered powerless by Hela's golden bands, he had wanted to regain his magic. But in this moment, with Thor bleeding into the snow, Loki would have given anything to have his spells again. He could have healed Thor's wounds—wounds which he'd suffered so that Loki might be safe—with a mere whisper. As it was, Loki had nothing but the clothes on his back to staunch the bleeding.

He shrugged out of his fur cloak and tore off his tunic. "I should let you die here," he snarled to Thor as he ripped the tunic into strips. "You shouldn't have followed me. You should have let me go! You intolerable, insufferable, insane—!"

Loki bit back his words as he looked down at Thor's slack face. It was no good heaping insults upon the brute when he wasn't able to defend himself. He swallowed and set to dressing Thor's injuries as best he could with what little he had.

Why did Loki the Small do this? Especially when he could have left Thor where he fell and continued on his path to freedom? If pressed, Loki might have mumbled that though the Odinson was his enemy, he had put his own life at risk for Loki's, and it would bring dishonor to his name to let him die. Yet in truth, this was not an answer at all, for it did nothing to explain why Loki's hands trembled as he bandaged Thor's broken body—nor the tears that threatened to freeze on his face as he worked.

Whatever his reasons, Loki tended to Thor and carried him back to the palace slung across his shoulders. It was slow going, even with Loki's not-inconsiderable strength, for Thor was quite broad and unwieldy, but Loki did not falter. He bore him all those miles on foot in the snow with the dark of night closing in around them.

"If those wolves come back," Loki panted to the unresponsive Thor, "I'm leaving you in a snowbank and running for my life."

Even to his own ears, his words rang hollow. It was fortunate that the wolves did not return to test them.

At the palace gate was another piece of good fortune: Heimdall waited there, sightless eyes peering into the howling snowstorm, concern painted on his handsome face. He was the lone figure there at this hour, all the other servants and merchants having long ago completed their work.

"My Prince?" Heimdall called into the darkness at the sound of Loki's plodding footfalls. "Is that you? Did you find him?"

"It's me," Loki said through chattering teeth. Thor and the fur cloak were warm, but not enough to account for the loss of Loki's tunic. His shoulders ached from carrying Thor, and his muscles screamed in protest. Just a few more steps. A few more. He gasped as one of his knees buckled. "Please, help him. He's hurt, he's—"

Heimdall rushed to take his burden from him, and Loki nearly collapsed himself. Together, they spirited Thor into the palace unseen and brought him to his quarters. Loki, having never visited the Odinson's chamber, did not have time to take in the furnishings, which were simple for a royal but well-crafted. Heimdall laid his charge out on the bed and ran his hands over his Prince's battered body, fingers seeking out his wounds, his frown growing deeper as he found more and more.

"Wolves?" he asked Loki as his hands traced the vicious bites on Thor's skin.

"Big ones," Loki breathed. His eyes darted along the still form stretched out on the coverlet. "Will he be all right?"

"He's stubborn. And strong." Heimdall smiled, a kindness meant to comfort. "Do not worry. I will make sure he heals."

Loki blinked, glad that the servant could not observe the poleaxed expression on his face. "I don't care if he lives or dies, of course," he said in a rush. "I was merely curious."

Heimdall lifted his eyebrows, his smile widening. "Of course."

Again, Loki was fortunate, for they became occupied with Thor's injuries and the conversation ended there. The makeshift bandages that Loki had used were discarded in favor of linens that Heimdall pilfered from the palace's stores, along with some tinctures for the pain and salve to speed healing. Thor's tunic was in shreds, so Heimdall ripped it away to better tend to him. Loki, who did not have much practical experience in healing without magic, took his orders from Heimdall. He applied the medicine as instructed and aided the loyal watcher in dressing Thor's wounds.

"Now all we can do is wait for him to wake," Heimdall said when they were done. He seemed unsure of what to say next. "Would you like me to escort you back to your chambers, Crown Prince?"

"I will wait here with you, if you don't mind," Loki said. He wiped a damp rag that Heimdall had brought across Thor's brow, cleaning away a streak of blood. What was this thing that gnawed at his belly and urged him to stay close to this brute? It must be the shock of the wolf attack, Loki thought. It's only natural for creatures to stick together after such an ordeal. A survival instinct, long-buried till now. That was all.

Heimdall's eerie white eyes fastened to him. "You won't try to leave again?"

Loki gave a huff of laughter. "In this gale? I don't think so." He glanced out the windows. Snow plastered them almost entirely with more falling every moment. Yes, it would be a fool's errand to attempt an escape now. Loki's heart sank. He had lost his chance. For the time being.

"Well, I am grateful for the company," Heimdall said.

It was a long night. Heimdall eventually fell asleep in an armchair by Thor's bedside. Loki, exhausted to the point of carelessness, curled up at the foot of the bed, using his fur cloak as a pillow. He did not sleep well, waking at every sound: the mournful wailing of the wind outside, the ragged, pained breathing of the Odinson, Heimdall's sleepy mumbles, a log falling in the grate.

The morning sun was making a weak entrance through the snow-coated window when Loki finally roused for good, and this time, it was to the sound of mirth. He picked up his head to find Thor awake, staring down at him and laughing with his mouth clamped shut. He clutched at his bandaged side where the laughter seemed to hurt him, but did not stop.

"What is it?" Loki asked. "Why do you laugh?"

"You're dressed as you were when first we met, almost," Thor said, his voice rough with disuse. He waved a hand at Loki's bare chest. "You must be cold. It's funny."

"It is not funny in the least." Loki sat upright, kneeling on the bed with a scowl on his face. He looked down at his raiment, which was naught but his black leather breeches, and smoothly pulled his fur cloak tighter about his shoulders. He spoke in a quiet voice in deference to Heimdall's much-needed rest, but his words held an icy edge. "For your information, I sacrificed my tunic to bind your wounds, so do not laugh at me like this is some silly Aesir game. You could have died."

"But I didn't." Thor grinned, then winced when even that small motion seemed to pull at some injured muscle. He sobered and said, "You could have escaped last night."

Loki held Thor's gaze, a strange twist to his lips. "But I didn't," he said softly.

They looked away at the same time.

Thor cleared his throat. "The next time you try to run away," he said with forced levity, "perhaps you could choose a route that is not so snowy nor so dangerous."

Loki snorted. He'd feared the Odinson would fly into a rage when he awoke, that he would roar at Loki for daring to cause so much trouble. Yet here they were. Joking about it like the whole night was just a jolly adventure.

"Am I to make it easy for you to recapture me?" he asked.

"I would appreciate it if you would," Thor said. His smile turned downcast. His eyes fell to the coverlet. "You will keep trying to escape. I know you must as a matter of pride, but—" He sighed, a hand going again to his bandaged flank. "May I ask that you at least wait until I've healed before making your next attempt, Crown Prince?"

"Loki," came the reply. It shocked them both into silence.

Thor seemed at a loss. "You would allow me to call you…?"

"If it pleases you," Loki said, adjusting his furs over his shoulders.

Thor's smile was a wonderous thing. "It does," he said. Then, his throat working, he added, "Loki."

Loki nodded and slid from the bed onto his feet. Now that the oaf was awake and talking, there was little for Loki to do but retreat to his own chamber. "Heal quickly," he said. "I mean to make my escape soon."

"I swear I will do my best," Thor said.

With a nod, Loki padded to the door, but before he could grasp the door handle, a loud knocking came from without.

"Thor? Are you in there, my son?" called the Allfather.

Loki whirled back around, his eyes wide in shock. Odin couldn't see Thor's bandages, his injuries. He'd ask questions, naturally, and there were no answers that wouldn't land Loki in some horrid dungeon. Thor's eyes when they met Loki's were just as round, but Heimdall, who was immediately awake at the first knock, sprang to his feet and rushed past the bed.

"One moment, my King!" he shouted at the door. Then, to Loki, he whispered, "In the bed, quickly! Pull up the sheets so he will not see."

Loki did as he was ordered, slipping into bed beside Thor and jostling him rather badly in his haste. Thor hissed and held his no-doubt aching side, and Loki yanked the bedclothes over their heads.

"Be quiet," he said through his teeth.

"Don't push me so," Thor returned.

But then Heimdall opened the door with a loud creak and the two figures beneath the sheets froze. They lay close, hot with the scent of blood and sweat in their little cocoon. Then the door shut. If the Allfather saw anything in that quick moment, it was the indistinct shape of two bodies in Thor's bed, nothing more. They remained immobile and strained their ears to hear Heimdall as he spoke to the King out in the hallway.

"Your Majesty," said the Prince's man, "please excuse me, but the Prince is not available to see you at the moment."

"Why not?" came Odin's deep, accusing voice. "I specifically ordered him to appear before me this morning in the throne room. Now it is nearly past the time to break our fast, and I am forced to look high and low for him. What has delayed my son? Pure laziness?"

"No, my King," said Heimdall. "I assure you the Prince did not intend to miss his appointment. Only, a very happy occasion has kept him abed all last night and, indeed, will keep him there for several more days."

"A happy—? What do you mean?" Odin demanded.

"The Royal Consort has gone into heat," Heimdall said. "He requires the sort of assistance that only his husband the Prince can offer."

In the close confines of the bed, Loki was startled into jostling Thor once again. Thor bit down on a groan of pain while Loki, too incensed to notice, turned positively mauve in his anger.

"What lies!" he cried, muffled beneath the sheets.

Thor put a hand to his arm and shushed him.

Heimdall continued weaving his tale. "This happens, I believe, only very rarely in a Jotun's lifetime. It is the height of their fertility. Perhaps the snowstorm brought it on; the Frost Giants love it so. At any rate, it seems the Prince will need to be locked away in his chambers to, erm, see to his consort until the heat has passed. They will need a week, perhaps two, before it runs its course. I myself was just leaving after delivering some water; the poor souls haven't paused for food or drink in hours, and badly needed it."

"Really?" The Allfather was astounded, but sounded eager to believe the story. "So even now they…?"

"Oh yes. Like rabbits." Heimdall's hand thumped against the door. "Can you not hear them?"

"Arsehole," Thor muttered to himself, and then, much louder, let loose a false cry of pleasure so lewd, so terribly wanton, that for a moment Loki feared he was dying from his wounds. "Come on," Thor whispered to him, "you as well."

"I am not screaming like some animal," Loki hissed.

"Well, do something!"

Loki shot a hand out from the sheets and took hold of the massive carved headboard which, coincidentally, depicted the scene of a longship docking in a harbor, and bashed it against the stone wall. Thor nodded fervently, and so he did it again and again in what he hoped was an erotic rhythm. More loud moans spilled from Thor's lips. He cast Loki a pleading look, and Loki at last relented, putting a few half-hearted grunts into the mix.

They kept up the pantomime even as they heard Odin say, "My word. What a stroke of luck! Surely the little giant will conceive now. They should not be disturbed, of course. Tell the other servants not to enter. I'll make sure the nobility know to steer clear. You'll see to their needs, won't you, Heimdall? Quickly and efficiently?"

"Of course, my King."

Odin laughed and clapped his hands. "I bet you're glad you don't have your eyes now, aren't you? That would be awkward."

"A clever jest, my King." Dry as bone.

Oh, fuck off already, Loki thought with all his might at the Allfather. His hands were getting sore from banging the headboard. And Thor seemed to be tiring from all his carnal yodels.

Finally, after much too long in dawdling, the King said, "Well, I'll leave them to it. Pray for a boy, Heimdall!"

"I certainly will, my King."

The banging and moaning continued for several moments to ensure that Odin was out of hearing range. After it tapered off, Heimdall cracked the door open and stuck his head in.

He held up a finger. "Before you criticize me—" he began.

Loki leapt out of bed, mindful at least not to jostle Thor this time. "What was that about? _Jotun heat_!? There's no such thing!"

Heimdall wisely stepped inside and shut the door tight. "It was the best I could come up with on such short notice."

"He's right," Thor said. "This lie keeps me away from my usual duties and explains my absence while I heal." He struggled to sit up against the pillows, wincing at each movement. "He didn't mean to offend."

"A touch of embarrassment is better than Odin knowing the truth," Heimdall pointed out. "Think of the trouble that would cause." He dipped his head from side to side. "Of course, you both should remain here for the next week or so in service to my story."

Loki raked his hands through his loose black hair and growled. He was tired, confused, shivering without his tunic, and now trapped in the Odinson's room while the beast convalesced. Things had gone from bad to worse. At least before he'd had a modicum of privacy in a room of his own!

"Where am I to sleep? There, I suppose?" Loki flung a hand in the direction of a simple settee near the fireplace, a narrow thing more suited to short visits than a night's rest.

"I will take the floor. You may have the bed," Thor said, and made as if to lever himself off his pillows to do just that.

"My Prince, really—" Heimdall protested.

"You're supposed to be resting, you absolute dolt!" Loki took him by the shoulders and forced him back down. "Now stay there before you hurt yourself and undo all my work."

"A poet couldn't have said it better." Heimdall hummed in thought. "Perhaps you two might _share_ the bed?"

Red eyes flashed. "Not on your life," said Loki flatly. "I'm not about to sleep next to an Aesir."

Heimdall clicked his tongue. "Oh, come now. It wouldn't be so bad."

Thor dragged a hand down his tired face. "Heimdall, don't."

"It's the most logical solution," the Prince's man said to Loki, ignoring his master entirely. "Born of necessity, and therefore not improper. The bed is large enough, even for two such as—"

"It shall not be done if Loki does not wish it done!" the Odinson boomed, more forcefully than anyone expected. Loki and Heimdall were both taken aback, stunned into silence. Thor sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry. I didn't mean to shout. I must be more tired than I imagined."

"You must sleep, my Prince," Heimdall said, and arranged the pillows behind Thor's golden head like a parent doting upon their sickly child. "The Crown Prince and I will devise another way. I promise to keep him as comfortable as possible while he stays here in your chamber."

"I know I can count on you, Heimdall." Thor settled back into the mattress, his eyes already fluttering shut. "Oh, and Loki?"

He approached the bed with some trepidation. It would take some getting used to, his name on those lips. "Yes?"

"Thank you," Thor said, "for bringing me home. You saved my life."

"We'll call it even," Loki said quietly, and watched as Thor drifted into an exhausted sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, now we're cooking! My gosh, I need the validation. Thank you thank you thank you. Please [spread that love](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/post/177522726482/chapter-6-the-crown-prince-and-the-beast) if the spirit moves you


	7. Chapter 7

To the distinct displeasure of many—perhaps including yourself—Loki did not consent to share a bed with Thor that night.

Instead, Heimdall contrived to bring a small cot into Thor's chamber so that Loki would not have to sleep upon the narrow divan or the cold stone floor. Well, I call it a cot, but the word does not do it justice, for it was fashioned in the Asgardian style with scrolling wood adornments at the legs, plush tufted cushions, and an accompanying pile of pillows large enough to smother a whole gaggle of sleepers. The two things keeping it from being named a proper bed was its size (wide enough only for one) and its height, which was low enough to the ground that it could be shoved beneath Thor's own massive bedstead at a moment's notice.

"In case the Allfather's curiosity outweighs his better sense," Heimdall explained, "you can quickly hide it should he knock again."

Loki could find no fault with the luxurious little cot, and arranged it in front of the fireplace so that he might be as warm as possible while he slept—for the days were now chilly and the nights, freezing. Winter in Asgard was not nearly as harsh as in Jotunheim, of course, but the otherwise mild seasons meant that the Aesir did not build their palaces with insulation in mind, much to Loki's dismay. At least the fire was a good one, and his cot was piled with furs and woven blankets, making it a very comfortable nest indeed. He slept well and long to make up for the lost hours.

For the first few days of their shared imprisonment, Thor spent most of his time asleep. He would awaken only when the pain flared, or when Heimdall arrived with some warm broth, new bandages, a change of clothes for Loki, or cool water. There was very little for Loki to do except catalog his new surroundings.

Loki's cot was actually the most extravagant thing in the entire room, for as you may remember, Thor's chambers were almost monk-like compared to those of most royals. His hand-carved bed frame notwithstanding, Thor seemed to own the most simple of things. The narrow settee. A practical set of iron pokers for the fire. A few rugs, some chairs. A washbasin with grooming implements, many of which Loki didn't recognize. A chest with a rather simple inlay in the shape of a many-rayed sun which, upon inspection, proved to be filled with red cloaks, breeches, and tunics in various shades of dark blue or black. Loki could find no hint of personality in the room, no pieces of artwork or royal heirlooms, no collections of any kind, not even a single book.

This last was an oversight Loki could not fathom, and he did not hesitate to upbraid Thor when the man next roused from sleep with a troubled groan of pain.

"Listen," Loki said as he stood over the bed with his hands on his hips, "where do you keep your books?"

"My what?" Thor grunted, trying to find a manner of laying on his back that didn't hurt quite so much. His forehead showed a light sheen of sweat, which he wiped away with his palm.

"Your books! Poetry? Novels? A treatise on the propagation of fungus? Anything to break up the monotony of watching you sleep."

"I do not keep any books," Thor said, eyes glazed and still sleepy.

"Why not?" Loki crossed his arms over his chest. "Can't you read?"

"Of course I can read." Thor gave him a glare that didn't quite reach the level of intimidation he may have hoped, as sorry as he looked on his sickbed. "But books are not prized here. They're seen as...slightly frivolous."

Loki gasped, his hand flying to his heart. Surely this was some cruel jest! How could a people, even one so beastly as Thor's, eschew books of all things?

"But how do you learn? Tell your tales? Entertain yourselves?" he demanded.

Thor shrugged. "We Asgardians tend to prefer action. Knowledge is more often gained by doing. Apprentices learn from their masters. Stories are passed from mouth to mouth. Entertainment is found in the sparring ring, in competitions. A lady might read, if she is so inclined or perhaps too elderly to do much else, but it would be very strange indeed for a warrior—let alone a Prince—to keep books about the place."

"You mean to tell me," Loki said in a horrified voice, "that you consider the reading of books to be _unmanly_?"

"Well, I don't personally—"

"This is unconscionable!" Loki began pacing up and down the length of the room. "If I were on the throne of Jotunheim right this moment, I would declare a new war against Asgard just for this!"

Thor sighed and shifted on his pillows. "Aren't you being a little dramatic?"

"No!" Loki flung himself upon his cot in a fashion that can only be described as the height of drama. "I'm serious. This is beyond the pale," he said into his pillows. He flipped onto his back to address the ceiling. "What am I supposed to do to occupy my time?"

"We could...talk?" Thor suggested.

Loki lifted his head to glare at the Odinson. "Talk? Talk of what?"

"I don't know." Thor swallowed and cast about with his eyes. "What would you like to talk about?"

"I don't want to talk," Loki muttered. He stared at the ceiling, his hands pillowing his head, and considered their options. "If I had a book, I could read to you. One of my grandams used to do that for me when I took ill as a child." It was one of the few sweet memories Loki had of his family; Lavik had been a pleasant old thing, and doted upon the tiny Crown Prince as few others did. Loki missed him fiercely. Often when he read, the words came to him in Lavik's soft, velvet voice.

Thor made a quiet noise of assent. "When I caught sick in my youth, my mother would pet my hair and tell me Vanir bedtime stories. Knights fighting monsters, that kind of thing." He grimaced, holding his side as he shifted again. "Do you think you might tell me one of your own fairytales? One from Jotunheim?"

At first Loki thought to complain about being treated like a court jester, here to entertain the bedridden Prince and nothing more, but his own boredom did rankle and in truth, the little Jotun did love having an audience.

"Very well." He moved to sit at the foot of Thor's bed, the better to tell his tale. "Though I would rather show you the book if I could. The pictures add a little something, but no matter. Do your people know the story of Slovenly Lwulpter?"

Thor thought for a moment. "Can't say I do."

So Loki told the old story, which involved, as you might imagine, a young Jotun called Slovenly Lwulpter who was very slovenly. Lwulpter did not shave his hair down to the scalp as Jotun warriors were meant to, and he did not—

"Hold on," Thor interrupted. "Your hair is not shaved." In fact, Loki's black locks, which had hung only to his chin when he'd first arrived in Asgard, had grown to nearly brush his shoulders.

"Yes, because technically I am not a warrior. Not yet," Loki huffed. He did not appreciate the detour in his storytelling and he certainly did not wish to explain how shameful it had been to be kept from the battlefield which was his right as the future King. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "Now where was I?"

Right. Lwulpter did not shave his hair, and he did not trim his nails. Before long his finger- and toenails grew to be like talons. The other Jotun sneered at him when he walked by on the road, and they would tell him to manage his toilette better, but Lwulpter did not listen. No one would have him for a helpmate, but still he did not care. His nails grew so that he would spear livestock on them as he walked, and the rotting corpses of pigs and cattle would hang on his feet for weeks, surrounding him in a miasma of filth. Eventually, Lwulpter's hair grew so long that it obscured his vision, and he could not pull it back without slicing himself with his fingernails. At last, he tripped on a stone in the road which he did not see and, in his tumble, cut himself into little pieces with his weapon-like nails. The story ends with Lwulpter a pile of foul-smelling flesh in the middle of the road which other travelers would walk around to avoid, shaking their heads and lamenting Lwulpter's slovenly habits which had proven so deadly.

"And that is why," Loki concluded, "little Jotuns must take care to groom themselves properly."

Thor stared at him in silence for quite some time, his pale face taking on a green tinge. "What the Hel kind of story is that?" he finally cried. "You tell that to _children_?"

"Well, yes." Loki blinked. "It's an important lesson."

"It's terrifying!"

Loki held up a finger. "But effective. I always keep my nails trimmed, you'll notice."

A snort of disbelief came from Thor. "Yes, this explains a lot about you actually."

Loki's eyes narrowed. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, only you're quite....particular about your appearance," Thor said.

Loki laughed in derision. Was that meant to be an insult? "Yes, I suppose compared to you, I am."

"What do you mean by that?" Thor demanded.

"Well, I'm not the one who wears my hair all knotted!" Loki waved a well-manicured hand at Thor's head.

"Knotted? You mean my braids?" Thor reached up without thinking to touch those braids which decorated his yellow hair, but raising his injured arm gave him a pain and he sucked in his breath at the motion. "It's expected for Asgardians to plait their hair. It keeps it neat and out of the way."

"Does it?" Loki sniffed. "I think it just looks a mess."

"Oh." In Thor's defense, he was still disheveled from his fight with the wolves, and it was true that his hair was more mussed than usual. Wisps of gold were escaping his braids and flying away in all directions. He tried again to lift a hand to attempt to bring them back under control, but it was no use. He cried out in pain and pressed his hands instead to his side.

Loki started forward, brow drawn. "What's the matter?"

Tears stood in Thor's strange blue eyes as he breathed through the hardship. "I'm afraid I won't be able to make myself more presentable. I can't seem to lift my arm higher than my chest."

"Idiot," Loki hissed. He grabbed Thor's wrist and pinned it back to the bed. "Forget your rat's nest for now. Healing is more important."

"Does it really look that bad?" Thor asked quietly. His eyes did not raise from where they stared down at his lap.

Loki unbent just an inch. If their places were switched—and they so nearly had been in those dangerous woods—he would hate being in such a woeful state and helpless to do anything about it.

"Perhaps Heimdall can fix it up for you when next he comes," Loki suggested.

"Yes, perhaps," Thor said, but still looked absolutely wretched.

Loki sighed. "I do not know how to—plait, was it? Otherwise, I would help you."

"I wouldn't need fresh braids," Thor said quickly. "If I'm to be confined to bed for so long, I should probably leave it loose. Only, I cannot comb it out myself in this condition." He did not ask, but his eyes held the most poignant plea Loki had ever seen. Frost-kitts had nothing on this Aesir.

Loki rolled his eyes. "Oh, all right. Where's your comb? Beside your basin?" He went over to search for it.

"Yes, by my razor." Thor brightened. "Thank you. It's very kind of you to offer."

"Consider it a public service," Loki muttered, though they both knew the public would not be seeing Thor or his hair for many days.

There was no comfortable way for Thor to sit as Loki combed his hair for him, but they did the best they could: Thor leaning forward, arms folded atop his knees, chin resting atop them in turn. It was slow at first, maneuvering Thor into position, and though he made small, pained noises the entire way, he shook his head when Loki asked whether they should just forget about the whole thing. In the end Loki slotted himself behind Thor on the bed.

Loki worked his hands through Thor's hair, surprised to find it soft and fine, not coarse as he'd expected. He made a little pile of leather bands as he went, first untying them where they held fast the ends of each plait, and then unwinding the strands bit by bit. They sat in silence for the most part though Thor sighed a little at Loki's deft touch.

"You have lovely hands," he said once the last braid was undone. A beat. "Must be those exceedingly well-trimmed nails of yours."

Loki smiled, knowing Thor could not see him. "Hush, you." He reached for the comb where it lay among the bedsheets and started working it through Thor's snarls.

Thor closed his eyes while Loki hummed to himself. A memory of that same grandam came to him: Lavik giving Loki his one hundred brushstrokes before bed so that his hair shone like polished ebony. It had been a peaceful time, and so too was this. They sat there in the quiet of the room, Loki's hands in Thor's hair, combing it long past the point of the tangles being tamed.

In Loki's opinion, it looked better loose anyway.

"I could fall asleep like this," Thor murmured into the silence at some point.

"Hmph." Loki ran the comb through the wavy bits behind Thor's ear, his fingers following. "Wouldn't Heimdall be delighted? He might come in to discover us both passed out here in your bed, you from weakness and me from absolute boredom. Why is he so adamant that we share the bed, do you know?"

"I am sorry for that," Thor said, shifting. "It's partially my fault. I told Heimdall about the tutor who knew something of the Jotun ways, the one who told me you wouldn't like gold. She also said the Jotun always slept together in large piles, all curled together. I think Heimdall only saw an opportunity to make you feel more comfortable."

"Oh?" Loki sunk the comb a little too forcefully into Thor's hair, ignoring Thor's wince when the teeth bit into his scalp.

"Yes, but of course I know you would never— Not with me." He glanced over his shoulder to watch Loki through his golden fall of hair. "I understand."

"Do you?" Loki stopped combing and sat back against the headboard. "It is true that most Jotun grow up sleeping together in groups. Brothers among brothers. Did you or this tutor ever stop to consider why the practice started?" He waited.

Thor lifted one shoulder, then hissed when it hurt. "Safety?" he said in a quiet voice, rubbing his arm. His eyes went far away as understanding dawned. "In case of a nighttime raid."

"Yes, a favorite tactic of your army," Loki drawled. "Children huddled together with the youngest at the center. To be shielded from the first arrows."

"I'm sorry—" Thor began.

"I was never allowed to sleep beside my brothers, of course," Loki said breezily. "I was too small, you see. They could have rolled over and crushed me in their sleep. I was so special, so delicate that I had to be kept apart." He paused to let that sink in. "No one ever shielded me."

This was a trap set for a bear. Loki waited for the expected volley: _But I shielded you from those wolves!_ He prepared his next barb; he'd laugh in the Odinson's face and stick his fingers in his wounds. Yes, and you acquitted yourself so well, he'd tell the fool. He would deny he owed Thor anything, least of all his life. Besides, whose fault was it that Loki had been put in the position of needing to effect such a dangerous escape?

Thor turned to face him, though the motion seemed to cause him great distress. He held his ribs with his hand, held Loki's gaze. "Do you tell me this because you think I do not know how strong you are? How capable you are of shielding yourself?"

Loki paled, his insults dying on his tongue.

"I know this to be true. But—" Tears stood in Thor's eyes, and he dashed them away with the back of his hand. "A child shouldn't have to feel that way, should never feel alone and cut off and, and unguarded! Someone should have done something to help you, and I don't understand why— Loki, I know this is not my pain to bear but I think of the weight you must have carried. And I am sorry for it." He wiped at his pink eyes. "I am sorry for what was done to you."

Strangely enough, Thor's words echoed the exact ones a young Loki had wished to hear in his lonely bed. He closed his eyes against the memories. This brutish beast saw him so thoroughly. It was akin to witchcraft, and it made Loki feel as if he were made of cut glass. He opened his eyes and gave Thor a watery smile.

"Please don't weep," Loki said, reaching out and holding Thor steady by his shaking shoulder. Without his words as weapons, he had only jests for a shield. "It looks so very ugly. Is that your nose running?"

Thor laughed, surprised and loud, then groaned with regret and slumped down towards his pillows. Loki held his shoulders and eased him the rest of the way.

"Come, stop crying about my tragic childhood for a moment. You need to rest."

Thor touched his hand where it lay on his shoulder. "I didn't mean to cause you any discomfort."

"I'm not the one dealing with discomfort right now. Here, your pillow." Loki pulled it into place and fluffed it a bit.

"Thank you," Thor whispered. A strand of yellow hair stuck to his wet cheek, and he brushed it away. "For the combing and, well, so much more.

"Yes, all right." Loki cleared his throat. "Sleep now. Good night."

Thor closed his eyes and mumbled his own wishes for Loki's dreams. Loki stayed there for a moment, just watching him slumber, telling himself it was just a precaution. The beast was still healing from his injuries, after all, and so many things can befall the injured while they sleep.

One more minute, Loki told himself, and settled down beside Thor for lack of anywhere else to stretch out.

The minute turned into five, then ten, and then, lulled by the sound of Thor's even breathing, Loki's eyes fluttered shut. He awoke with a jolt to find the room pitch dark, the fire having long burned itself out in the grate. How long since he'd dozed off? An hour, perhaps more? In that time, Thor had curled to face him, body slack with sleep, hair spilling over his pillow.

Their hands, somehow, had become a tangled knot between them. Brothers nested beside each other. Children at prayer.

Loki felt his eyes prick with tears. How foolish could he be, sleeping with the Odinson like this? It must have been the brute who'd reached for him in the dark; Loki would have never, not even in the confusion of sleep. He extracted his fingers from Thor's thick, square ones and slipped off the bed. In his sleep, Thor gave an unhappy sigh but settled once more.

Loki went to his little cot and laid down properly—alone and under his pile of furs. He could not allow himself to be distracted, he told himself. He needed to concentrate on what was important. Escape was not an option for the moment, but there were others he could explore—should have explored earlier instead of getting wrapped up in some fool Aesir's troubles.

He closed his eyes in determination. For the first time in awhile, the Crown Prince dreamt. And this time, he was prepared for the meeting in his dreams.

"I have been pondering who you might be," said the ghostly Queen as Loki joined her at her icy cliff in his dreamscape. They looked out over the cold beauty of the ice-flats, the wind whipping their robes and hair into billowing waves. "I remember hearing of a Frost Giant your size. You're Laufey's child, the Crown Prince, are you not?"

"I am," he said. No sense in being coy. "They call me Loki the Small. And you are Frigga, Queen of Asgard."

"Why have you sought me out, little sorcerer?" she asked. "Why bring me to this place?"

Loki turned to her with a frown. "Pardon, but I was under the impression that you were the one seeking an audience."

Frigga smiled, gentle and slow. "Ah, the mystery deepens. If it is not you and not I who called this meeting, then something else must be drawing us together."

"Hm. There is our shared skill in the magical arts," Loki said, his eyes going far away. "Thor tells me you're very accomplished."

Frigga's facade of calm dropped all at once. "You know my son?" Her hands, cold as ice, clutched at Loki's. "Tell me how he fares. Is he well? Is he safe?"

Loki studied the Queen's eyes, the same false spring blue as the Odinson's. They were wide with frantic need. Such a thing can be faked, of course, but something about it tasted real on Loki's tongue. The ghost, if she was not a figment of Loki's imagination, must not have seen the living world for quite some time.

"A recent injury has kept Thor abed," Loki said. "He sleeps, he heals. Otherwise, he fares better than most would expect."

The Queen gave a heavy sigh of relief, then eyed Loki with a kernel of mistrust in her gaze. "And how do you know him? A Frost Giant, even one so small, would not be welcome in Asgard. Unless— Have things changed very much since I've left?"

"Oh, you have no idea," Loki murmured. He held his peace as for the rest; the ghost had not yet proved herself for good or ill. It is not unusual for restless spirits to lash out, and so Loki thought it wise to keep her in the dark for the time being. You cannot blame Loki for thinking that the Queen would react poorly to finding her only son married to a Jotun, especially after what Hela had said at the handfasting.

"So you wield magic—and you know my son," Frigga said. Her hands fell away as she thought. "This cannot be a coincidence. You might indeed be the instrument of my freedom. Tell me, do you possess power enough to free me?"

Poor soul, Loki thought. She desires to walk the earth forever as a dark shade. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry, dear Lady, but my magic is itself trapped at the moment." He held up his hands to show her the golden bands that even in his dreams shackled his wrists.

Frigga gasped, her fingers brushing the cuffs. "Who has done this to you?" she asked. "Who would be so cruel as to—?" She stopped, pale lips parted. Her whisper was as cold as snow. "Hela."

Loki's eyes fell to the white ground. "Yes."

"But you must then be a creature of extraordinary ability," Frigga said in a rush, "for I sense in you the living breath of magic even now. Even without your full power, you still might help me." Her eyes darted along his face. Oh, so that's where the Odinson had learned his pleading looks. "Please, as a friend to my son—"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Loki said, taking her gently by the shoulders. "How could I help you, hamstrung as I am?"

"You could work some charm," she said, "not a spell, perhaps, but a sort of conjuration that would allow me to at least appear to you outside of your dreams! That way, we could speak properly and I wouldn't fear your sudden awakening. The last two times I saw you, you were gone too quickly."

Loki could not hide his displeasure, his brows raising sharply. "You would have me casting bits of bone and staring into teacups like some velvet-parloured charlatan?" Such was the domain of mortals with no ability, not powerful beings such as he. "Good Lady, my heart goes out to you, truly, but—"

"Please!" she cried, cupping the back of his head in her strong hands and bringing him close. "I would give anything to just lay my eyes on Thor again! He needs my help. Hela is dangerous, you must realize that."

"Believe me, I do," Loki said, "but the dead should stay in the land of the dead. Forgive me, but I cannot be party to the raising of wraiths."

"Wraiths?" Frigga stared at him. "What do you mean?"

Loki searched for the most delicate way to break the news. "You have been dead many years, my Queen. Your son has mourned; he holds dear the memory of you. I beg you, do not haunt him. The sight of your ghost would pain him more than you could imagine."

"Haunt—?" The Queen stood tall and proud, her strength clear in her eyes. "Listen to me, little giant." She leaned in, breath misting in the air. "I am not dead. All this time I have been imprisoned in a world between worlds. You know who is to blame, for she has shackled you too."

Loki's eyes widened. Did Hela's treachery really go so deep?

A voice on the wind called his name. Loki turned his ear to it, recognizing Thor's deep rumble.

"Loki, wake up!" he said. "It's only a dream."

"He calls you," Frigga said, her eyes welling with unshed tears. "My son—"

"I must leave," Loki said quickly. He could feel the tug of the waking world at the corners of his mind.

"But will you help me?" the Queen begged. "Please, you're the only hope I have."

Loki hesitated. His own position was so precarious, and he did not know if such a promise could be made. "I—"

Rough, thick fingers cupped his cheek. "Loki," Thor said, insistent and scared, "please!"

Loki fell into wakefulness all at once. He sat up with a gasp, sweating and fighting for breath. Thor kneeled beside his cot with hovering hands. The bandages that covered the bare flesh of his chest and trunk showed stark white in the dark room.

"You must have nightmared," Thor said. "You were thrashing. I feared you were in pain."

"Do not touch me while I sleep," Loki spat. "You have no right."

"I'm sorry, it's only—" Thor swallowed. "You didn't hear me, and I could think of no other way to wake you."

Loki swept a hank of inky hair out of his eyes and gave Thor an appraising glance. "And before? What's your excuse for that?"

"Before?" Thor's brow furrowed. "I don't understand. Before what?"

"Nevermind," Loki said, and looked away quickly. Perhaps it was best not to dig that up. The brute likely didn't remember his indiscretion and needn't be told. "You shouldn't be out of bed," he managed to say.

"I know. I'll go back." Thor lingered, though, at Loki's side. "Was it—? Are you all right?"

"Yes, fine," Loki snapped. "Just a dream. Go to sleep."

A nod, then Thor slunk back to his own bed. Loki watched him go, his head coming to rest again on his pillows, his lungs still overtaxed. How could he tell Thor what Frigga had said in that dreamscape? He had no proof that Hela had committed this crime against the Queen; he couldn't even prove that the Queen was really alive. And what good would it do to raise Thor's hopes if there was nothing that could be done?

He lay there thinking until night turned to day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, here we GO. These nerds were only supposed to be cloistered in this room for one chapter but hahahahaaaaa, here we are. Geez. Anyway please comment, share, etc I LOVE YOU
> 
> Oh and please raise your hand if your Germanic family scarred YOU with the story of Struwwelpeter :)


	8. Chapter 8

Loki draped himself over his plush cot and laid his arm across his eyes, sighing deeply. It was night but he was not tired. Their forced imprisonment in Thor's chambers—not to mention Thor's recovery—meant that they had been sleeping at all hours, and thus could not find sleep when sleep was most desired.

It was getting to be dreadful. They could only have so many meandering conversations; Loki had had his fill of stories about what it was like to grow up with Hela as an older sister, for instance. He shivered as he recalled Thor's tale of being given his first black eye when Hela, ostensibly by accident, struck him in the face while playing a festival game. He was certain that Thor, in turn, was tired of hearing about the long list of pranks Loki had played on his brothers over the centuries.

And if Thor tried to tell him one more riddle to pass the time, Loki would surely scream.

The creak of bedsprings announced Thor's movements across the room. The brute had been venturing out of bed more and more lately as his strength returned. Loki ignored this development until he felt a shadow block the heat that still radiated from the grate's cinders. He moved his arm and stared at the looming beast standing above him.

"What?" he asked peevishly.  

Thor appeared shirtless, his chest and torso still wrapped in many bandages. His red cloak, pinned together at one shoulder, offered him only the smallest of covering. A little smile hovered along the edges of his lips.

"I have a notion of how we might keep you occupied," he said. "Come, there's something I'd like to show you."

Loki sighed, boredom making his head heavy and his limbs tired. "Shouldn't we stay cloistered? Your father expects us to be abed for at least a day or two more."

"He will not know. It's late; we'll be the only ones about." Thor held out his hand. "Please?"

Loki relented, but only because he couldn't stand to be in the stuffy room one moment longer. He took Thor's hand and allowed himself to be led through the palace and down some deserted hall he'd never seen before. Torchlight glinted off the stone walls and Thor's yellow hair, which he still wore loose about his shoulders. Thor took a torch from its sconce and led the way into an unlit corridor where dust laid thick upon the floor.

"Where are we?" Loki asked, brushing aside a gossamer veil of cobwebs.

"The western wing. Rarely used since my mother's death," Thor said in a quiet voice.

Loki did not need to ask why. Everywhere he looked was the touch of the great lady: paintings covered in white sheets, their ghostly frames standing stark on the walls; great murals and mosaics faded under grime; delicate filigrees upon the columns and doors in the Vanir style. Surely this had been Frigga's domain once. But why would Thor bring him here?

"We've arrived," Thor announced. He stopped before a huge double door of thick oak banded with iron. He released Loki's hand and waved him forward. "Go on. Open it."

Loki looked at him for a moment, not trusting the brute's huge grin. "Is something vile going to leap out at me?"

Thor gave a good-natured sigh and reached to open the door himself, the scent of him washing over Loki as he leant close. The door opened with a wild creak.

"After you, Crown Prince," Thor said, and bowed Loki through.

Loki's eyes went wide at the sight that greeted him. Thor's dancing torchlight showed just enough of the room's contents: a sprawling collection of shelves towering all the way from floor to ceiling lined with spines and spines and spines of different widths and colors, gold lettering stamped radiant on each.

His heart lost time. "A library?" Loki gasped.

"It was my mother's," Thor said quietly, "and now, I think, it should be yours."

Loki shuffled into the library in a daze, his gaze darting all around and above him. Even the royal library of Jotunstad paled in comparison. Hundreds of books, perhaps thousands, were housed here in the cavernous room. He could read for a century and still have more to look forward to. He grabbed for the spine closest to him and read its inscription. A history of Dwarven metalcraft! Another from a shelf opposite—songs and poems! His greedy hands reached for more, gathering story after story, words upon words. He clutched them in his arms in a tottering pile.

He could cry, he realized. He had never wept from happiness before. What a strange sensation, to experience such an abundance of joy when that feeling had been so terribly rationed all his life. And to think that the person who'd orchestrated it was the Odinson. Loki turned, his over-tall stack shifting dangerously, and he looked back at Thor, who stood in the doorway with his torch aloft, a soft smile on his beastly face.

"I would have told you earlier," Thor said, "but I wasn't sure if the books had been damaged after all this time, or even if they remained here at all. I sent Heimdall to check and he reported that, as far as he could tell, all was intact if a little dusty. Sorry about that; he had no time to tidy up."

"It's fine," Loki blurted out. "What's a little dust compared to—?" His eyes roved hungrily along the stacks. He would not cry. He trembled with the effort, but he held firm.

Thor swept into the room and lit the long-unused sconces that were set around the walls. "Please, explore at your leisure," he said as he worked. He barely winced as he raised his torch to share its flame; he was truly on the mend. Once the lights were all lit, the room was transformed into a cheery spot. "There's much to see. My mother's interests were varied and the collection is vast."

"I thought you said the Aesir don't keep books," Loki said, disbelief still warring with his happiness.

"Mother was not Aesir, if you recall." Thor's grin softened with the memory. "And she did not concern herself with what others thought of her." He left his torch in an empty bracket, his fingers lingering as he did so. Quiet, almost a whisper: "I miss her. So very much."

Loki nearly told him then about the dream he'd had and what the Queen's apparition had said to him. He nearly spilled every secret like wine upon flagstones. Yet he held his tongue, knowing that he needed to bide his time and attempt a conjuration before he made such claims. Perhaps somewhere in this library, he could find the key to communicating with Frigga in the waking world, or even how to free her from her prison.

He tipped his chin at the stack of books he held, which were getting to be rather heavy. "Would you mind lending me a hand?" he asked, and Thor rushed to take some of his burden from him.

"You know you don't have to stockpile these, don't you?" Thor grunted as he hefted the books. "You can come to the library as often as you like, or take what you wish." He smiled gently. "It's yours now, Loki."

Loki's fingers paused in their stroking of a well-crafted leather spine. He turned to Thor, eyes wide. "Oh?" He faced the shelf once more to hide his expression. He feared he was glowing rather badly. "I see. I will try to practice some restraint, then."

Thor laughed. "No, please, pull them all down if it pleases you. I just wanted you to know." He carried his share of the books to a plush corner where a few large, dusty pillows were arranged in an elegant avalanche. "The light is good here; it was my mother's favorite place to read." He set the stack down on a small, low table and set to work beating the dust from the pillows.

Loki watched him for a moment, then glanced down at the topmost book that he held, twisting his head to the side to read its title. _Dispatches from the Frozen Land of Giants_. His breath caught; homesickness swamped him, fever-bright.

"It's a bit late at this stage of your convalescence," Loki said, straightening, "but I could read to you now. If you like."

Thor's strange blue eyes lit up. "Of course, I'd—" He cleared his throat. "That would be wonderful."

They arranged themselves on the slightly musty pillows, Loki with his back wedged into the corner and Thor sitting beside him. They were so close that their arms touched when they moved, and though Loki could have put more distance between them to avoid such caresses, he decided his reading was more important. Besides, the room was a bit chilly and Thor's body heat made things quite comfortable.

Loki spread open the book of dispatches on his lap, delighted to find the thing illuminated with vibrant golds and frosty blues. There on the frontispiece was a drawing of Jotunheim glistening under a rising sun and a Jotun warrior, shirtless and proud, facing it. Loki traced the shapes of the illustration with his fingers.

"It's beautiful," he said.

Thor peeked over his shoulder. His breath was warm where it brushed Loki's ear, his voice full of trepidation. "This was written by one of my people," he said, pointing to the Aesir name on the page—Fridtjof, Son of Nann. "Perhaps we should read something else. I'm afraid it may contain certain....inaccuracies and insults."

Loki batted his hand away. "No, we'll read this." His curiosity, after all, outweighed all else. If it made Thor squirm, well, that was just icing on the honeycake. He turned the page and, with a little cough to clear his throat, began to read aloud.

"'Today marks the second day of the new year, though time passes unnoticed in this world of ice. I can see only the vaguest outline of the _Frey_ , lit by twinkling stars and the wavering green lights that appear in the sky mysteriously as ghosts. Her rigging shows dark against the bright night, undaunted by the majesty of this realm. In a land such as this, one cannot help an uncanny feeling as if supernatural powers are at hand, and that at any moment the Jotuns (Frost Giants) of the Arctic region with whom we may have to engage in deadly combat will appear over the ridge; but we are not afraid of them. We drink our cloudberry punch and raise our cups to Borr's health.'"

"Borr was my grandfather," Thor murmured. "He ruled Asgard in ancient times, long before I was born."

"That explains why this Fridtjof could travel to Jotunheim in the middle of winter," Loki said. "We were not at war then." He looked over at Thor. His face was flushed pink in the torchlight, his hair a burnished gold. "Shall I continue?"

Thor tipped his head back against the wall and allowed his eyes to fall to half-mast. "Yes, it's oddly soothing. And your homeworld sounds awesome to behold."

A frisson of pride ran up Loki's spine. "It is. The way he describes the morning lights—I didn't realize how deeply I've missed the sight."

"Maybe one day I will be able to see it for myself," Thor said. His eyes, soft with sincerity, rested upon Loki's face.

A little laugh flew from Loki's lips. Thor's jests were so strange, sometimes. "Yes, and maybe field-hogs will fly! Now, if you're finished being preposterous?" Loki turned back to his book and so missed the disappointment that furrowed Thor's brow.

Loki blazed through the story of the journey into the ice-flats. At one point, the ship _Frey_ became mired in the ice off the coast, and the crew despaired, for a winter storm was blowing in and they feared they would be sunk. But then, a miracle.

"'We are saved in the strangest fashion which, being written here in steadfast truth, will not be believed,'" Loki read. "'From out of the frozen wastes ahead of the storm came a band of Jotun, tall as trees and dressed in shaggy wolfskins, all covered in hoar-frost. They called to me where I stood vigil on the deck and, through a series of gestures and signals, assured me they sought only to assist in our plight. I weighed my distrust of these strangers against the oncoming storm and made the decision to toss down the ship's ropes as they asked. Together they heaved the _Frey_ from its prison and continued down the shore until she was towed to the safety of a hidden cove. We sheltered there with the Jotun as the wind and snow raged, and learned their names which are musical in their grace—Lbindi, Lyulmid, Lfurlm. When the storm at last passed, we all shared a bottle of our caraway spirits, which the Jotun did not have a taste for at first but, as did I when learning to drink the stuff in my youth, soon developed a strong affinity for it. The others all slept below decks and dreamed, I'm sure, of warmer times, but myself and Lbindi stayed up top, looking out from the mouth of our snug cave to watch the fairy lights of the Jotun moon cast its gorgeous corona in the sky. I admitted to Lbindi that we had prepared to do battle with the Jotun when first we came to this world, for we knew them only as warriors, and Lbindi filled my cup anew and said we now knew each other as friends.'"

Loki paused as he finished reading the sentence, his voice tapering off to a whisper. Thor was a heavy heat at his side, his gaze weighty upon him.

"Is there more?" Thor finally asked into the loaded quiet. "Please, keep going."

With a shake of his head, Loki collected himself and continued. They stayed like that for hours, Loki's voice weaving the magic of storywork about them, Thor listening intently, pressed close to his side. The adventures went on and on: navigating treacherous straits; battling a horrid sea monster; seeing the famed forests of P'lunth where the trees bear crystal fruits; Lbindi being gored by a bilgesnipe during a hunt (Thor actually gasped); Fridtjof saving his life with the quick application of healing herbs. Unable to carry the huge Frost Giant back to the safety of the ship, the explorer stayed with Lbindi there in the wilderness, tending to the Jotun's wounds.  

"'—and though he begs me to leave him where he lies,'" Loki read, "'I cannot. I will stay here until we both can leave the forest, or both die. As I write this my hand grows numb with cold, but I will not waver. My own life means nothing if his is not preserved, for I know of none so brave and none so kind as Lbindi.'" There the chapter ended, and Loki stared at the page, unwilling to turn it and risk breaking its perfect spell.

"It's extraordinary," Thor said. "Aesir and Jotun, journeying together as allies."

"Yes," Loki said, blinking, "extraordinary."

They stayed unmoving for a long moment, each thinking his own thoughts.

"Perhaps—" Loki said at the same time Thor began with, "Do you think—?"

"Sorry," Thor said, "go on."

"No, no," Loki said, relieved to have his silly notion cut down in its infancy. (He had wondered, absurdly, if perhaps this Aesir captain and the giant Lbindi had been lovers, but of course such a thing was too bizarre to consider.) "Please. You were saying?"

"I only wondered," Thor coughed, "if I was alone in thinking the story sounds a bit romantic." He picked at a fraying edge of his red cloak. "The way Fridtjof speaks of his companion, I cannot help but hear affection—perhaps even love?"

Loki waved away this idea as if he himself hadn't been thinking the very same. "Don't be ridiculous. It's just the way people spoke back then, all flowery and gooey. Isn't it awful?" He closed the book with a soft thud. "Besides, the fools would be a very poor match, wouldn't they? Physically speaking, it would be a tragedy."

"But if size were not an issue between them—" Thor began.

"How?" Loki frowned. "Through magic, you mean?"

"Or some other circumstance," Thor said, his eyes darting away.

Loki considered this. "I suppose it would be possible, but I've never heard of such a thing. It would be a scandal, surely. I can't even imagine." He traced the embossed title of the cover with his fingertip. The rest he would save for later; it was so late as to be early. Through the dirt-streaked windows, first light was showing golden at soft edges. They had read through the night.

"We should return to your room," Loki said. "The sun is coming up."  

He started to rise from the pillows, but Thor laid a hand on his arm. Not grasping, just a touch. It was enough to make Loki pause.

"Yes?" Loki asked.

Thor did not lift his eyes from the ground, but spoke in an early dawn voice. "This tale of Fridtjof and Lbindi— Do you think such a friendship could flourish in our time?"

"Between Jotun and Aesir?" Loki laughed, a brittle sound.

Have you ever been asked to count a room full of heads and, in your haste, neglected to count yourself? This was the same misstep Loki made, for it did not occur to him that Thor's question was anything but an innocent hypothetical. He couldn't picture his brothers or an uncle deigning to shake hands with the enemy, let alone forging a close bond, and he thought no further.

"No, Odinson," he said. "Back in the time of our foresires, maybe. But now? After all the bloodshed and broken trust?" He shrugged. "How could a Jotun be expected to look past that?"

Thor's hand fell. "Yes." He turned his face away, probably to gauge the sunrise for himself, or so Loki thought. "Yes, you're right, of course." He ran the blade of his hand under his nose and snuffled.

Loki watched this with growing concern. "You're not catching a cold, are you?"

"What? No." Thor sniffed, still facing away.

"Because you're not allowed. If you got a cold or a fever on top of your injuries and died," Loki said sternly, "I wouldn't be able to explain your demise to your father."

Thor finally turned, grinning like a naughty child, his eyes red with, Loki supposed, the effects of staying awake through the night. "Well, you could always tell him you fucked me to death in the midst of your heat," Thor croaked.

"I will do no such thing!" Loki cried, and made as if to bash Thor over his yellow head with the tome he held while Thor pantomimed raising his hands in defense. "Disgusting brute. Wicked beast. Come on, we should go before the servants start scurrying about." Loki slipped the book under his arm and held out a hand to help Thor to his feet.

Thor took it, his smile still plastered on his face, though something about it seemed off to Loki's eyes. Exhaustion, most likely, or the painful memories of his mother. Thor needed more rest, Loki mused. Their hands parted, and Thor clenched his as if it ached.

"Maybe you can read the rest to me later?" he murmured.

"Maybe. If you behave," Loki returned. He plucked a few more books from the floor as they left. They would keep him company during the last days sequestered in Thor's room. He hummed happily to himself, wrapped up in his own excitement, and so did not notice the look that Thor gave him—full of longing, empty of hope.

If your blood boils at Loki's failure to see what is to us so obvious, try to understand. The Crown Prince could hardly be expected to recognize that which he had never seen, or even thought himself capable of inspiring. To be long unloved is in so many ways a cruelty, and this is only one of them.

Together they made their way back to the Prince's chambers and locked themselves away once more. Thor crawled immediately into bed without a word. The broad wall of his back set against the waking world. Loki paid him no mind and spent a few giddy minutes arranging his new pile of books in the most pleasing fashion on the windowsill. Only when he was satisfied with the arrangement did he seek his cot.

Some time later, Loki awoke to the sound of quiet whispering. Heimdall had entered on those ghost feet, he realized, and was speaking to the Odinson in hushed tones. Loki listened intently, keeping his eyes closed and his breathing, even.

"But we're so close, my Prince," Heimdall was saying. "If you keep at it just a little while longer, your powers will surely be returned to you."

"No, I've made my decision," Thor said in a low whisper. "This plan will not continue. We'll find another way."

"Another—? Your Highness, there is no other way!"

Loki lay still as a corpse. Did they mean the plan to defeat Hela? The one that involved himself in some unknown fashion? It sounded like it had just unraveled.

"There's got to be another option," Thor said. "I will not have Loki mixed up in this any longer."

A stone grew in the pit of Loki's stomach. He was being cut out? What would become of him if he no longer served a purpose in the Odinson's plan? Was he to be totally without allies? It all made sense to him now, why Thor had gifted him the library—to make sure that Loki would be too preoccupied to notice his relegation to the sidelines. His mind whirled. He needed to keep a place for himself in all this or risk being cast aside, a casualty of the failed peace treaty. If he could only ingratiate himself to Thor—

But what could he provide to the Aesir Prince that no one else could?

Loki was so preoccupied with thinking of ways to make himself useful to the brute that the rest of the conversation, though it reached his ears in a muffled way, did not register at all.

Heimdall gave a frustrated click of his tongue. "You had no such compunction when we first crafted this scheme, my Prince. What has changed since then?"

Loki, mired in his own thoughts, did not notice the heavy silence that followed. If he had opened his eyes, he would have seen Thor's golden fall of hair curtaining his face as he looked down in his shame.

"Oh," Heimdall breathed after a moment. "Oh, Thor. No."

"I did not intend for it to happen," Thor said, his voice breaking in misery. "I know I have no right. I know how hopeless it is."

Did Loki perceive the import of these words? Did he guess their meaning? Of course not, for he thought only of his own plot. He kept returning to a single idea: he would need to bring the ghostly form of Queen Frigga into the waking world as she'd begged him to do. That would certainly secure his place in Thor's good graces, if he could produce some proof that the Prince's mother still lived.

"My dear boy." The mattress creaked as Heimdall sat on its edge. If Loki had cared to imagine the scene from behind his eyelids, he might have pictured the Prince's man laying a comforting hand on Thor's shoulder. "This may complicate things, but that doesn't mean you must give up on our plan. There's no reason why he might not still—"

"I'm telling you, it's folly," Thor murmured. "Even if there was a chance, I cannot in good conscience persist. I will have to find some other way to break this curse. Alone."

Loki paid them no attention. He was too busy making lists in his mind of all he might need for a successful conjuration. It was a thing that any savvy person could accomplish with the right ingredients, regardless of magical skill. There were some herbs that could aid him, a crucial piece of crystal, and the timing— Was the moon on the wax or the wane? He would have to consult the charts.

"Are you certain?" Heimdall insisted. "There are times when I think, listening to the two of you, that you are so close to winning."

Thor's voice was such a strangled whisper, it's likely Loki could not have made out what he said even if he had been listening. "You're wrong. I am nothing to him. As it should be."

None of this penetrated the fog surrounding Loki's mind. Soon, he thought, the Odinson would see Loki as an essential ally. The beast just needed a little nudge in the right direction. He drifted off to sleep with a pleased smile on his lips, glad to have a plan of his own at last and the will to see it through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book passages were inspired and in some instances very much lifted from the journals of Fridtjof Nansen, parts of which I read in [Dead Reckoning: Tales of the Great Explorers](https://books.google.com/books?id=QeIfKv4qabYC&printsec=frontcover&dq=fridtjof+nansen+explorer+collected&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiG1vLJja_dAhVE31MKHee1DJ8Q6AEITTAG#v=onepage&q=fridtjof%20nansen%20explorer%20collected&f=false) by Helen Whybrow. Apologies to Helen for citing this work in...whatever this is. 
> 
> Gosh, I hope you're enjoying this. I'd love to hear from you.


	9. Chapter 9

 

Loki stripped the bedclothes off of Thor with a flourish. "Get up, Odinson," he said. "It's a red-letter day!"

The beastly Prince did not match his high spirits, instead turning over with a groan and sticking his golden head under a pillow. "What are you talking about?" came the muffled question.

"I'm talking about freedom. Today we finally taste it again," Loki said. He took a moment to examine his reflection in the looking-glass that hung over Thor's washbasin. Every curl of his black locks fell just so, and the cool blue of his skin had a healthy sheen to it. Anyone would want him for a partner in crime. He grabbed Thor's pillow and cast it down on the floor, heedless of Thor's fruitless efforts to grab it back. "Heimdall tells me you should be fully healed by now. It's been over a week—"

"Twelve days," Thor grumbled. He shoved his face deeper into the mattress, his arms fencing in his head.

"—and the story we conjured to explain your absence has been satisfied. Don't you want to go outside? Breathe the fresh air?" Loki stared down at the unmoving lump of Aesir flesh. "I have an idea. Let's take a turn 'round the garden."

He'd been careful to plan this down to the last detail. Now that they no longer had to be cooped up together, Loki was forced to think of other ways they might spend time in each other's company. To allow himself to fall from the Odinson's sphere would be to risk his place in the Prince's scheme. And he so wanted to be a part of that scheme.

Difficult to manage, however, when one's counterpart wouldn't play along.

"It's too cold to go out in the garden," Thor said, bleary eyes peering up at Loki. "We'll freeze."

Loki gave only a cursory glance out the window. "There's snow on the ground, yes, but we'll bundle up. It will be cozy. Look, I found a fur-lined cloak for you." He took the folded red thing from its place atop the chest and held it aloft in triumph. There was even a pair of matching gloves.

Thor watched him standing there for a long moment, long enough to make Loki feel like a bit of an ass. Then, with a sigh, the Odinson heaved his half-naked form out of bed.

"If it would make you happy…." he said.

"It would," Loki assured. "Now let's get you out of those bandages, hm?" He flung the cloak onto the bed and set about unwinding the linen strips from Thor's chest and torso. Thor turned in a little circle, arms raised, as obedient as a doll. Just as colorless as one, too. Perhaps some flattery would help his poor mood?

"You've healed very nicely," Loki said as he gathered the bandages in his hands. "Heimdall tended to you well. Barely a mark. You'd never know what had happened." It was true; that pasty skin was marred only by a single red crescent on Thor's forearm.

"True," Thor agreed with downcast eyes. "You'd never know."

Concern touched Loki deep within his breast. "You are feeling all right, aren't you?" he asked—only to ensure he was aligning himself with someone who wasn't about to keel over, of course.

"I'm fine," came the answer. Thor looked out the window, his loose hair hiding his face. "Just a little tender still."  

Loki frowned, then forced a bright smile to his lips. "Clean clothes, that's what you need. Come, out of those breeches. How long have you been marinating in those, anyway?"

Thor turned back to him with a wince. "Yes, I'm sure I'm disgusting," he said, and busied himself with unlacing his flies. Loki turned back to the clothing chest and rummaged around for suitable raiment—and to give Thor a bit of privacy.

"These are nice. Soft and warm." He tossed the fresh clothing over his shoulder. Loki listened to the rustle of Thor getting dressed, still digging through the chest for want of anything better to do. "You certainly don't waver from this palette, do you? Why no greens? Or purples? You'd look rather regal in purple, I think."

"These colors suit me," Thor said. The creak of belt leather echoed through the room. "I need no others."

"It was just a thought." Loki stood and turned now that Thor was dressed. Even with his hangdog face—honestly, something needed to be done about that—the Odinson looked fit and hale. Loki's gaze lingered on him for perhaps a moment too long. "It's good to see you restored to full health," he said, looking away.

"Thank you." Thor swallowed, then shook his head. "I am glad to leave my sickbed, truly. I only have a lot on my mind, and thinking has never been my strong suit." He reached for Loki's fur cloak where it hung on a peg by the door and held it up in his hands. "I'm sure the walk will clear my head."

"Oh, that one's mine," Loki said, certain that Thor had mistaken it for his own, but not understanding why he held it so.

"Yes, I know." Thor shook it a bit. "You're supposed to—" He shook it some more.

"Ah! You're helping me with it?" In Jotunheim, everyone of age and ability was responsible for their own cloaks, or pulling out their own chairs, or opening their own doors. To do those things for another would imply a paternalism that Jotuns eschewed. Not wanting to appear rude, though, Loki ducked into the warmth of the thing and allowed Thor to settle it across his shoulders. He pulled his long dark hair free of the collar, apologizing when a strand flicked at Thor's cheek. "I'm afraid I'm still not used to these traditions," he said.

"It's what a gentleman is supposed to do for—well." Thor hesitated. "For ladies. I don't know if that's an insult to you, but I thought it was the nearest to what is polite."

"Why would that be an insult?" Loki laughed. "Asgardians and their rules. Here." He picked up Thor's red fur-lined cloak and wrapped it about his broad shoulders. "Am I doing it correctly?"

He didn't understand, of course, the ways in which men and women on Asgard were divided—the men into the role of owner and women, the objects. Loki wouldn't see the possessiveness attached to such customs, for the concept was foreign to a people who did not mark their partners with rings and new names. He merely thought it was polite for the Aesir to assist each other in their puny frailty. It was almost sweet, he thought, for Thor to include him, so he acted in what he thought was similar sweetness and hoped the gesture would be appreciated.

Thor was stunned into immobility which Loki took as more moping, so he helped further by arranging the cascade of his yellow hair so that it spilled down the back of the cloak. His quick fingers twitched a few strands into place to better frame Thor's jaw.

"There." He gave Thor a sunny grin. He'd ingratiate himself to the stony beast if it was the last thing he'd do. "It looks so much better loose. Shall we?"

Thor took his offered hand with a quiet whisper of thanks.

The palace gardens were, as Thor had predicted, extremely cold. The snow had settled over the trees and ground in great sparkling drifts. Bare branches were frozen over, encased in glassy ice, red berries shining like jewels within. Loki marvelled at the pristine whiteness of everything. They walked arm in arm down the deserted promenade, their footprints the only ones in the snow. No birds sang, no insects hummed. The entire garden seemed to Loki like a crystalline fairytale.

"It's so quiet," Loki said, his breath misting in the air. "I didn't think we'd be so totally alone here." In fact, he'd hoped for a few courtiers or some of the royal guard to witness his new sweetness towards his husband—the better to show Thor how excellent he'd be at further subterfuge.  

"We may be the only ones who dared venture outside," Thor said, "but plenty of people are about." He nodded at the palace windows that looked out over the garden. There behind the arches of colored glass were blurry faces, eyes intently trained upon them.

Good. Their performance would have an audience after all.

"Word will travel fast, will it not?" Loki murmured, glancing away. "Soon everyone will know you and I have returned to polite society. Have you thought about what we shall tell your father when we see him?"

This was part of Loki's plan to cement his place in Thor's dealings. The Odinson needed to be reminded that their fates were tightly intertwined and that Thor should be glad they were. Loki could be useful. He had to be; his life depended on it.

Thor cleared his throat as if something horrible were stuck there. "I'm not sure what would satisfy my father at this point, save for…."

"Just so." Loki nodded. "We should tell him I'm with child."

A noise of surprise left Thor's lips in a cloud of mist. He stopped on the frozen path, and Loki, still holding onto his arm, stopped beside him. "And what exactly will we do," Thor said, "when your belly does not swell in a few months' time?"

"There are several options." Loki began listing them on his fingers. "I can feign some kind of mishap—I'm a very good actor, you know; or we can buy ourselves more time by saying it takes, hmm, seven or eight months for a Jotun dam to show; or we can usurp your sister and free ourselves from this farce of a marriage long before it would matter. I like that last one best. What do you think?" He cocked his head to the side.

Thor's false spring eyes skated along the white ground. "The last one does not give us much time," he said. Distress creased his face, making him even less handsome than his Aesir features allowed.

Loki glanced up to the faces at the windows. Their audience was still rapt. He tugged on Thor's arm and led him further down the meandering path until they passed behind a huge icy hedge. Let them think they were sneaking kisses in the snow. It was easier to speak of secrets when no one was watching. Loki took a step closer to his beastly husband, their cold breath mingling, the icy wind making their furs dance. He spoke low in the frozen silence of the garden.

"I know why you are so morose of late," Loki said. "Your responsibilities weigh on you. It's not right, trying to shoulder this burden alone. Let me help. Tell me what I can do."

Thor opened his mouth, then closed it. His hand rested atop Loki's where it clutched at his arm.

"Nothing," Thor said at last. "I've realized I must do this on my own. And I fear that deepening our lie with a false pregnancy will only serve to place you in danger."

"I'm already in danger," Loki pointed out. "A little more can't hurt."

"This isn't a game, it's your life! Do not speak of it so lightly!" Thor snarled, a sudden fierce flash in his eyes.

Loki shrank back an inch. He couldn't keep the look of shocked admonishment from his face. It was rare, he was coming to realize, but Thor could show glimpses of the same rage that had once leveled a city. It was difficult to keep such powerful emotions hidden; Loki knew that better than most.  

"Sorry," Thor said quickly, quietly. His hand gentled on Loki's, gloved fingertips upon his heritage marks. "It's only—my standing, the peace accord, Hela—it's all so fraught right now. You don't need to be involved in such things."

Loki's red eyes narrowed. He needed the Odinson to trust him implicitly. The Crown Prince of Jotunheim would not let his future be decided by the machinations of this beast.

His face softened into what he hoped was a winning smile. Patience, he told himself.

"You're probably right," he said, though the words tasted like bile in his mouth. "Oh, that reminds me." He slipped his hand free from Thor's and made a show of patting his cloak. His fingers dug into the little pouch at his belt, producing a simple iron key. The key to Loki's cell of a room. "I've been meaning to give this back to you."

This was a bit of a gamble on Loki's part, but the way he figured, it was better to offer the key of his own free will than have the Odinson eventually reclaim it himself. Either way, he would be trapped again in his own chambers, but at least by volunteering the thing, he would show his worthiness as an ally. A small gesture that Loki hoped would win him some goodwill.

Thor's lips parted. He took the key from Loki's numb fingers, cradling it in his palm. "That night," he said, his breath ghosting into strange shapes, "when you ran—you stole this from me as we embraced."

"Yes?" Loki quirked an eyebrow. It seemed like an obvious enough conclusion; why was the Odinson belaboring it so?

"I should have known," he whispered. "Why else would you have…?" He shook his head, his shaggy hair flying.  

"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself." Loki patted at the Odinson's cloaked shoulder. "You're not the first to fall victim to my quick fingers." He tried a smile, but Thor did not return it.

Instead Thor pressed the key back into Loki's hand, an inscrutable look in his eyes. "Thank you," he said, "but I think you should keep it."

Loki stared at the key, at Thor, then some more at the key. He couldn't fathom what the beast was doing. "Do you mean to change the lock?" he asked.

"No." Thor curled Loki's fingers closed over the thing. Cold, hard metal bit into his skin. "I mean to give you what freedom I can while I can give it."

A huff of laughter turned to mist in the air. Loki waited for the rest of the joke but it never came. His brow furrowed. "Do you think that's wise, letting me come and go as I please?"

"I don't know," Thor said, "but I think it's right. You might try to escape again, true, but I could hardly blame you. And I do not think you will while winter still holds. At least, that is my hope."

Loki thought on this. It certainly boded well for him that the Odinson's trust extended so far. And yet he couldn't help but wonder if it was some sort of test.

"So I am permitted to go where I wish? Within the palace walls, presumably."

Thor nodded. "I would caution you from exploring my father's private wing, but yes. You are permitted to move freely."

That would come in handy. Alone in the library, he could perhaps search for the answers he needed to free the Queen.

Loki raised a brow along with the level of their repartee. "And if I desire to keep my door closed to whomever might knock, that is also my right?"

Thor's well-crafted boots shifted and crunched in the snow. "It is," he said. "Heimdall will still have his own key, of course, for his work requires it, but if you wished to bar me from your room—" His jaw worked like his words tasted sour. "I will not force the issue."

Loki blinked at that furred face. "Why would I bar _you_?" he asked. A fleeting moment of honesty, but he hadn't even considered such a thing. "We still have that adventure book to finish, after all."

The Odinson was on the verge of replying when the sound of footsteps in the snow floated to their ears. Loki turned to see the Allfather, larger than life in his great coat of ermine, barreling toward them with his usual retinue. Loki slipped his key back into its pouch and laid his hand once more on Thor's tense arm. They moved closer together though neither noticed that they did.

"My son!" Odin boomed. "You have finally emerged. Looking hearty for all your exertions, hm?" His single eye fell upon Loki like a pin through a butterfly. "And you, Loki the Small, how do you fare?"

It was perhaps the first time the King had spoken directly to him, but Loki did not let his shock show. He had other, more important things to consider.

"I am well, Allfather," Loki said, and placed a delicate hand upon his belly. He allowed a serene smile to cross his lips. "I apologize for keeping the Prince shut away for so long."

Beside him, Thor sucked in a breath. Loki gave him a sharp look. Yes, they were forging ahead with Loki's plan. He just prayed the Odinson followed suit.

Odin stared at Loki's flat belly, then looked up at his face. "Of course it was necessary. And the result? Are you…?"

Loki patted his stomach. "This morning, I was overcome with sunrise sickness, and I have no doubt as to its cause. My husband suggested we take a stroll so that I might get some fresh air." He gazed at Thor with what he hoped with insipid devotion. "He is so good to think of my health."

Odin was overcome with joy, his whole face transformed into a radiant sun. He whooped at the electric blue sky, then began to embrace the courtiers who surrounded him, pumping their hands in his.

"My grandchild is coming!" he cried. "Thank the Norns!" He whirled on Thor, catching him up in his arms and dislodging Loki's hand. Thor stayed as still as a wooden board as the Allfather squeezed him. "Is it a boy, do you think? I prayed you might be given a son, but a daughter would do."

"The child may be neither son nor daughter, you know," Thor murmured. "We might be given a beautiful babe shaped as Loki is." His eyes met Loki's before darting away.

Loki stood a little straighter at that, his jaw tightening. The brute should leave well enough alone, in his opinion. True as the point may be, things were tense enough without bringing his singular sex into their lie.

"Oh!" Odin stood back a bit to look into Thor's face. "I didn't consider that. Of course, well, that would be just fine." He turned to his entourage and gestured for their support. "Wouldn't it? Any child of my bloodline will be cherished!"

Murmurs and nods, murmurs and nods. "A blessed child!" someone called. The courtiers surged forward to shake Thor's hand and congratulate Loki with awkward smiles. Loki accepted this attention gracefully, but Thor still looked stiff as a plank.

"Relax," Loki whispered to him between snippets of well wishes. "This is good."

"Is it?" Thor returned. His face was bedsheet-pale.

"Come, come," the Allfather said, nudging Thor in the direction of the palace. "You have been away from my court for far too long. There is much you need to hear in regards to our country's dealings. Go and receive the reports from my advisors, and tell them your own good news."

Loki moved to follow his husband, but Odin clasped him by the arm.

"Let Thor attend to his business," he said. "I should like to finish escorting you through the garden, if that's all right?"

Another look of wordless communication passed between Thor and Loki, wide eyes seeking, pleading.

"Father—" Thor began.

"We'll manage on our own, won't we?" Odin patted Loki's frozen hand. "After all, I want to spend some time getting to know the Royal Consort. You're part of the household now." He said this last bit to Loki with a grin peeking through his bushy beard.

Loki dredged up a smile for Thor. "Go. The King and I will enjoy the bracing air for a moment. I'll see you later."

Still Thor hesitated to leave, and only did so when Loki's eyes bulged at him in warning. The retinue enveloped the Odinson and spirited him back to the palace, leaving Loki alone with his father-by-marriage, the King of Asgard. He gritted his teeth as he withstood the man's touch. How many Jotun lives had been lost because of his decrees? How many had been slain by his very hand in battle in years gone by? It was enough to make Loki gag.

But for his own sake—and Thor's—he walked arm-in-arm with Odin through the wintery hedges like a model prisoner.

"The grounds here are beautiful," Loki said for want of any other civil conversation.

"As beautiful as those at Jotunstad?" Odin asked.

Loki did not allow but a flicker of anger to show in his eyes before smoothing himself into something like taffy: sweet, sickly so, and liable to stick in one's throat. "The differences are what makes each type of beauty so fine. Don't you agree?"

A laugh echoed through the frozen maze. "Laufey was right. You're a born diplomat, little giant."

Loki did not know whether that was an insult or a compliment, so he wisely held his tongue.

Odin led them down a path shaded in snow-covered trees. "I know this marriage to my son was not exactly your dream match; he felt similarly, I'm sure, though he did not complain. Thor has become acquainted with humility over the years. Ever since…." His gaze skated away to a bird winging silently through the air. Loki was sure he had lost his train of thought, but then Odin began again. "At any rate, I'm glad to see you like this. Not somber as when you first arrived."

Loki bit the inside of his cheek. Arrived! The Allfather made it sound like Loki had boarded a pleasure ship and stepped foot onto Asgardian soil of his own free will. Still, he had to make some response.

"It is true, I am pleased to be with child," he said, thinking quickly. "There was a time when I thought such a thing would not be possible for me."

"Ah, yes." Odin nodded to himself. "Your size. There is that." They rounded a bend, walking now beside a pond covered in a thin sheet of crackling ice and avoiding, Loki noticed, the grove with the statue of Frigga.

They were nearly to the old, gaunt tree when Odin spoke again. "You must think me such an old fool, acting this way over the promise of a grandchild." Loki opened his mouth in token protest but the King dismissed him with a wave. "No, it's true. I am a fool, and I have made so many mistakes. I do not expect this child to erase them, but I would like to see something good come out of all this before my time is done." His rheumy eye looked away, blinking wetly.

Loki could not help but be moved to pity by this old man who so desperately wanted what did not grow in Loki's belly. It would kill him, he knew, when he discovered the truth. Well, so what? Let the tyrant perish, Loki told himself. Let all of Asgard crumble for all he cared. As long as he escaped with his life, he wouldn't mourn.

The King sniffed loudly and touched Loki's hand where it rested at his elbow. "At least my son has managed to do one thing right," he said with a crooked smile. "I admit, I had my doubts. He's disappointed me so often."

Such a statement could not be allowed to stand. If the Allfather was ever going to transfer the status of favorite from Hela back to Thor, he needed to change the way he thought about his wayward son. Loki gathered himself in preparation. Who could have imagined it? The Crown Prince of Jotunheim defending the Odinson's honor.

"Your son is not so hopeless, actually," Loki said. "Despite the upheaval and grief in his life, he has shown himself to be a clever—"

(The two of them talking in an alcove, Loki on the cusp of falling for Thor's tricks.)

"—thoughtful—"

(A lunch of fish and honeycake in a soft meadow.)

"—wise—"

(A beast standing in his beloved rain.)

"—caring—"

(A book in his hands, Thor's warm shape pressed to his side.)

"—gentle man."

(Large hands smoothing his cloak over his shoulders.)

"He will be a good father."

(A little boy lifted onto his pony.)

"And a fine helpmate."

(Yellow hair worn loose ever since Loki had stated his preference for it….)

Loki's feet stuttered to a stop alongside his thoughts.

Impossible.

Every word had been— Not a lie?

What was the matter with him?

Odin laughed, ripping Loki from his reflections. "If Thor can inspire one such as yourself to sing his praises, perhaps he is more suited to leadership than I thought."

Get your head on straight, Loki told himself, and turned to the King with his most charming smile. "Indeed, my husband would be at home on a throne. He was born to rule, don't you think?"

"I'm not sure what to think anymore," Odin murmured as they walked back along the promenade. "You know, when Thor was born I thought he would certainly be my heir. But then there was this business on Midgard—" He pulled his face into a scowl.

"He told me," Loki said. "A terrible error. A lesson learned."

The Allfather sighed, seeming not to hear. "And then Hela had grown so powerful. I know she needs a firmer hand, I do, but I am so tired. This war has turned me into an old man, and I cannot command my children as I know I should. Not without my beloved wife."

A spark of hope lit in Loki's breast. He had only met Frigga for a few moments in his dreams, but even that short time was enough to convince Loki of the woman's great strength. If anyone could be counted on to convince her haggard husband to move against Hela, it was the Queen.

His breath hung in the air as he spoke. "Your Queen would tell you what should be done if she were here. Don't you know what she would say?"

Odin's foot faltered. "She—"

"She would say you are not so old to do what is right," Loki pressed.

The King held a hand to his chest, which heaved with his labored breathing. "What is right is not so simple," he wheezed. "Hela would— She would—"

"Allfather?" Loki stopped and held Odin by the shoulders, peering into his red, puffing face. He saw the sweat beading on his wizened brow, and his own brows lifted in alarm. "Are you well?"

"Tell my son—" Odin panted. He fell to his knees in the snow. "Tell him—"

And then he toppled over, the whole great ermine shape of him sprawled across the ground.

"Tell him what?" Loki knelt, shaking the King's broad shoulder. He breathed still; his chest rose and fell, but he did not wake. "Allfather!" He cast his gaze about the empty garden. "Help, someone!" Loki cried. "Something has happened to the King!"

Guards poured from unseen corners, their horned helms glinting in the winter sun as they swarmed their fallen liege. They bore Odin back inside the palace and Loki, lacking any other instructions, followed them. They swept through the halls with their royal burden, brushing aside courtiers and servants alike. Loki could hear the whispers following them.

"The Odinsleep," they said. "It's upon him once more."

They moved through what must have been the King's private wing. Loki dimly recalled Thor telling him to avoid the place, but what with all the confusion, no one seemed to pay him any mind. Loki considered turning back, especially when he spied an imposing barred door of iron and gold stamped with the King's seal, but he decided to continue onward in the hopes of finding out what ailed the man.

The Allfather was brought to some room Loki had never seen before. A huge bed fashioned into the shape of an Aesir ship dominated the place, and there the sleeping form of Odin was arranged under pelts of the finest fox. Loki hung back at the door as the guards fussed amongst themselves. He was unnoticed by all the advisors and other court members who streamed into the room, and no one spoke to him until Thor himself strode in.

"Loki," he said, clasping him by the arms.

"I don't understand," Loki blurted out. He was absurdly glad to see that furred face; maybe now someone would tell him what was going on. "One moment we were talking, just talking, and then the next he'd fallen and would not wake. Is he—?"

"My father will be fine," Thor promised. "This is only a sleep which befalls him every few centuries or so. A consequence of the great power he wields; he will rest, then awaken with renewed strength."

"Oh." Loki gulped for air. His heart raced, though he knew not why. The Allfather was his enemy and would serve him better dead. But then Thor would be burdened with so much pain, especially considering his mother—

Best not to think of it.

"He will be fine," Loki said as if testing out the words.

Thor nodded. His hand traveled upward to cup the column of Loki's thrumming throat. His thumb brushed the point of his jaw. "I'm sorry; I know how frightening the Odinsleep appears to those who have never witnessed it. The first time I saw my father succumb to it, I was just a little boy, and I nightmared for weeks afterward."

Loki gathered himself together, groping for some of his old coldness toward the beast of a Prince. He stepped away from Thor's comforting touch with a small sniff. "I was not frightened," he whispered. "I only worried some ass might accuse me of poisoning him."

A soft smile crossed Thor's lips, but before he could argue that Loki had indeed been very frightened, and there was no shame in it, a tall shape swept into the chamber. It was Hela, dressed in her full armor of black and green, her thorny headdress casting shadows on the walls, a cloak of a thousand raven feathers hanging from her shoulders. Every eye turned to her, and every tongue ceased to move.

"My father sleeps again," Hela declared. "Where is his staff? Bring it to me."

As advisors scurried to comply, Loki hissed in Thor's ear. "What does she mean?"

Thor's jaw tightened. "The staff is my father's symbol of rule. While he sleeps, someone must sit on the throne in his stead."

Loki bit back a gasp. Hela, on the throne? No, no, no. "Can't you stop her? Do something."

"There's nothing to be done," Thor whispered back in a rush. "My powers are still locked away. I cannot take my father's place, even temporarily, without them. And everyone knows she's the current favorite."

Helplessness swamped Loki in its murky waters as he watched some gaunt advisor shuffle forward with the golden staff in his hands. Hela took it up without a moment's hesitation. Her horrible eyes scanned the room, chin tilted upward as she viewed the assembled.

"May the Allfather's rest be brief and healing," she said. "Your Queen will protect you until he awakes."

A shout rose from the audience in affirmation. The Death Goddess rested her gaze on Thor.

"I'm sure in this time of peace," said Hela with a smile canting her lips, "my father will wake to find nothing at all happened while he was gone." And with that, she swept out, her cape of many raven feathers swirling around her.

The room emptied in short order, though the guards stayed to flank Odin's bed. Thor took Loki by the arm and led him away as well.

"The less time we spend in my father's wing, the better," he said.

"Where are we going?" Loki asked.

"I need to speak to Heimdall. This new development complicates things." The Aesir Prince glanced about, but they were completely alone, having ducked into a deserted corridor. "Hela is not one to waste an opportunity. Every minute she holds that staff, we're in danger."

"So let's go find Heimdall. Which way is the servants' quarters?"

Thor shook his head. "No, I will go alone. Lock yourself in your room, or go to the library. No one will find you there."

"I don't want to lock myself away!" Loki cried. "I want to help."

A breath left Thor's mouth in a loud sigh. "Loki—"

"Why do you insist on cutting me out of your plans?" he demanded. "I should be working alongside you, not cowering in the dark."

"I am trying to keep you safe," Thor gritted out between his clenched teeth.

"Then consider that a failed endeavor!" He pointed back down the corridor from where they'd come. "Your sister sits on Asgard's throne. You father is fast asleep. Your mother—"

"Is dead! And so will you be if you do not listen to me!" Thor raged.

Loki bit his tongue. The brute would never listen to what he said, not about Frigga's ghostly messages, not without proof. Coldness seeped back into his veins.

"There he is," Loki murmured. "The tyrannical jailer. I was wondering when I'd meet him again."

Despair cut through the throbbing heat of Thor's stare. "Please," he said, his voice wrung out like a rag, "do as I ask and go."

"As my captor commands." Loki turned on his heel and stalked down the hall away from Thor. "Tell Heimdall I'll have my bath tonight at sundown," he tossed out over his shoulder.

He kept up his haughty walk until he turned a corner. Then he sagged against the wall, his hand covering his mouth. He needed to think.

To the library then.

Unfortunately, the collection of books did not offer Loki any consolation. Being alone in the room made it feel much too cavernous. Even the lit torches couldn't lessen Loki's feeling of prickly loneliness. And the books themselves weren't helping either.

He had hoped to find some guidance for restoring Frigga to the waking world but every text he read there said the same thing: magical power was needed, and lots of it. The golden bands still clicked at Loki's wrists as he sighed and replaced the tomes. He then turned his attention to the next best idea which the Queen had herself suggested, that Loki work some meager charm to open a channel between worlds so they might speak when they wished. This, too, proved unlucky as Loki consulted the moon charts. It would be three weeks before both of Asgard's moons were full, and there was no hope of success before that happened.

Loki slammed the book shut with a huff. There was no telling what damage Hela could do in three weeks, but he had no choice but to wait. In the meantime he could at least prepare his supplies. He scoured the texts until he had the perfect list in mind. Some would be simple to procure, others would require time, which he had in abundance.

And then?

Well, then there was nothing for Loki to do but read something to take his mind off the peril he faced—and the ways in which he had certainly _not_ waxed poetic about Thor's qualities to his father.

It is a fact well-known in every realm that the best thing to read when you need to ignore your responsibilities is a bit of titillating filth. Certain people (depraved, of course) find it a balm for the brain. Loki was certainly one of their number, having amassed in his small personal library in Jotunstad dozens of pieces of literature that were best enjoyed alone. For Loki, these books had been necessary, for he had had no other outlet for such things.  

Frigga's library did not skimp on any subject, and erotica was no exception. Loki was delighted to find quite the collection of stories (some with drawings!) covering a wide variety of acts that appealed to Aesir sensibilities. The crude language and even cruder pictures fascinated Loki, and he took a stack of the books back to his room, which he unlocked with his own key.

It was so strange to be alone in his quarters again. Strange to be apart from Thor after being practically joined at the hip for so long. Loki moved about the little room, trying to make it feel a touch more homey. He hung up his fur cloak and put his slippers by the door. He placed the stack of erotic novels at his bedside. He took the small golden horse from the pouch at his belt and put it on the side table where it might catch the fading light from the window.

Loki's fingers twitched the thing slightly to the left so the rubies and sapphires would sparkle in the sun.

Ugly thing, he thought, but it was his.

Heimdall and a few other servants arrived with the bath, and Loki bathed. He pointedly did not ask Heimdall about Thor and whatever their conversation regarding the Odinsleep had been. Clearly he was not welcome to join in the discussion of what to do about Hela.

Later, clad in fresh sleeping robes, damp hair drying about his shoulders, Loki sat up in bed and started in on his new pile of books. The ribald tales held his attention even though they were clearly meant for Aesir tastes. There were lots of instances of maidens being carried off by strapping warriors, or maidens being fucked against trees by broad-shouldered huntsmen, or maidens being made to suck the cocks of blue-eyed princes.

"Absolute trash," Loki scoffed even as he read every single word.

He sped through book after book, devouring the stories as his disgust co-mingled with arousal. Every so often, the bawdy hero would enter the scene and Loki would be shocked to find the author describing his hair as brown. It should be golden, surely? Because— Well, nevermind why. It just suited the character better, was Loki's opinion.

Yes, yellow hair on the tall, strong woodsman, who needed only to lean his axe against the woodpile so his hands might be free to lift the maiden's skirts right over her head.

Loki's hand crept under the bedclothes and between his legs as he read.

Later, fingers wet with his release and face flushed, Loki put the book aside. His bleary eyes stared at the taper flickering at his bedside. How lonely and wretched was he, he wondered, to indulge in this Asgardian rubbish? And to imagine Thor, of all people, when reading it?

It was only because of their forced closeness, Loki reasoned, that the beast haunted his thoughts. It meant nothing. Just the natural workings of a tired, bored mind.

Loki fell asleep assuring himself of this, but he dreamed of furred cheeks brushing along his skin and rough hands grasping his wrists and pinning them down. He dreamed of eyes the color of a false spring's ice-melt. He dreamed of pleasure without thought.

And he dreamed, most distressingly, of lounging against a milky-skinned lover on a bed of seaweed salad while the sound of tiny footfalls echoed all around them. In the dream, Loki picked up his head to see where the sound was coming from. In a doorway shaped like a honeycake stood a little Jotun child, his pudgy blue arm holding the doorframe, facing away to give Loki only a view of the back of his dark head.

"Are you lost?" Loki asked the little child.

The dream-child turned then, and smiled, and showed Loki his eerie blue eyes.

Loki trembled on his seaweed bed, and a milky white arm reached for him. He turned and saw who owned the arm. Thor stared back at him with those same blue eyes. He said Loki's name, sweet on his tongue—

A gasp for air, and Loki was awake.

He sat up in bed and pushed his sweaty dark hair from his forehead. His heart was racing. It was only a dream. Only nonsense. He tried to breathe. It hadn't been real.

Then why did he ache to hear his name said like that again?

Loki hugged his knees to his chest.

"This isn't good," he said into the dark of the room.

Nothing answered him. Not good at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worked on this one for so long I don't think I can read it anymore! 
> 
> Please feed me comments and love, thank you <3


	10. Chapter 10

If you've ever experienced an unexpected, unwanted surge in the cardiac region when it came to thinking about a particular person (and their person in particular) you will be familiar with Loki's next steps. After realizing he found the Odinson not so foul as he'd originally thought, he considered first ignoring the revelation altogether. That was not a feasible plan, for Loki could not go more than a moment without his mind wandering to Thor and the way his hand rested gentle on Loki's elbow when they walked and how he looked riding his warhorse and the fall of his cloak and a million other Thor-like travesties. Also there was the issue of practicality; Loki couldn't very well ignore his one ally in this entire mess. Eventually they would have to make some public appearance at the very least—the Royal Consort radiant with child, of course.  

And so that day Loki the Small resolved to meet the problem head-on. The simplest solution, he thought, was often the best, and in this case, that solution was clear: he needed only to get the beast off his mind by indulging his insane desires a single time. Once he'd been exposed to the Odinson's no-doubt horrible slavering, Loki would be free of the want that plagued him.

And why should he not indulge? He had three weeks' time before he could do anything useful regarding the trapped Queen. Furthermore, when would he again have the opportunity to select a partner who matched his size? If Loki returned to Jotunheim as was his ultimate hope, he would be bereft of choice. (And if the Odinson's plan failed and they were all killed by Hela, well, Loki preferred not to die a virgin.)

This plan had the added bonus of perhaps securing a place at Thor's side; seduction was not Loki's strong suit, seeing as he'd never even been kissed, but how hard could it be? According to the Aesir erotica he'd studied, it was laughably easy to convince an Asgardian man to take a tumble. They could hardly walk three yards without fucking some maiden if the books could be believed.

Decision made. No time for nerves. Only action.

Loki waited until the darkest hours of night when the castle would be empty of servants and only a few of the guard would be wandering the halls, easily avoided. He slipped from his room on bare feet, wearing only a thin robe of fine silk. The way to Thor's quarters was clear and the door, unlocked. Loki let himself inside and saw Thor abed but still awake, laying clothed atop his bedsheets and frowning at some book in his hands.

He looked up at the click of the door closing. "Loki?" The book was set aside on a table. "What brings you here at this late hour? If you're still angry with me about yesterday—"

"It's not that." Loki gathered his courage before he spoke. His hands curled in the soft fabric of his robe's belt. "I wanted to tell you— I've been terribly lonely lately."

"Are you?" Thor said, sitting up and squinting at him. "Yes, I imagine you don't have much company now that we're not trapped in this room for days on end." They shared a smile, Loki's dissolving quickly from nerves and Thor's following suit. "Would you like to sit and talk with me?" He gestured to the settee before the roaring fire.

"No, I—" Loki swallowed. Words of explanation would not do, not for an Asgardian like Thor. He would only understand action, and so Loki acted: he opened his robe and allowed it to flow from his shoulders and pool on the ground at his feet. He stood completely bare save for the gold bands at his throat, wrists, and ankles.

Thor stared. Loki fought the urge to cover his nakedness with his hands. He would be proud in his asking; he would not beg. He lifted his chin.

"We might do other things," he finally said into the silence.

"What are you—!" Thor vaulted from the bed, picking up the discarded robe and attempting to apply it to Loki's bare body. "Loki, I know you delight in needling me, but this is one jest too far. Please cover yourself!"

"But—" The sting of tears, now so familiar, came to Loki's eyes. Was this really how Thor would receive him? To be rejected by this creature was too much to bear. "It is not a jest. I thought we could…."

"Don't." Thor held up a single finger. "Do not say it. Do not think it." He yanked the robe back onto Loki's unresisting arms.

"I only wanted—" Loki tried.

"If your loneliness pains you so, there are workers who can be brought into the palace." Thor kept his eyes on his hands and not on Loki's face as he spoke. "It would all be properly arranged. They are very skilled and will do everything exactly to your liking." Thor jerked the collar of the robe into place over Loki's heaving chest. "That would be best for you."

"I do not want to go to bed with some stranger," Loki protested. "I know you. I trust you in this." Oh, but that was a truth too far. Thor's face looked as if he'd been struck by a poleaxe. Loki bit his lip and walked his words backward to a place where Thor might listen. "You have gone without these past few months; you know I'm right when I say we should slake our need. It would just be for comfort, just for the sake of our sanity. It wouldn't mean anything beyond that!"

Thor shook his head. "You ask for the impossible," he muttered.

"Oh." Loki blinked. "I see." He tipped his chin to his chest. His throat worked. "You would not have me."

Thor's sigh washed over the crown of his head. "Loki—"

"I disgust you that much?" Loki lifted his hand and examined it, blue skin run through with his heritage marks, gold bangle on his wrist. The jeers of the other Jotuns rang through his head; old doubts crept in. "I am small, I know, but I thought I was the perfect size for you." He clutched his hands together against his chest. Perhaps Thor really saw him as nothing more than a demon from those Aesir stories. "Is it my coloring? Can you not abide that?"

"It's not—" Thor placed his hands on Loki's now-covered shoulders and stood at arm's length. He looked into Loki's eyes, his points of blue clouded with worry. "It's not because you do not tempt me. You do." His gaze slid away. "Too much, if I'm honest."

Loki stared at him. "I don't understand."

Thor looked down to their feet and appeared to choose his words with the utmost care. "You're right to call me a beast, and wicked, and worse, for when I see you like this—I think of...taking you. Like a beast would."

"What?" Loki's lips parted. "What do you mean?"

Thor took a step closer, the heat of his body warming Loki's chilled skin. His blue eyes stayed fastened to the floor. "I mean, I imagine turning you around and having you from behind—brutally, with my teeth at your neck. I think about kissing the cries from your mouth, about filling you with my seed until you're sure to bear my child." A step closer. Loki held his breath. Thor looked up, his teeth clenched tight, his eyes flashing. "I would possess you utterly, Loki. And I know how much you would abhor it, and how dangerous it would be for the both of us."

Loki's breath caught. Was this really how the brute felt? He would have never guessed. The fierceness with which he spoke, it set Loki's blood afire. And his heart, which was so well-protected, beat against its cage of ice.

"Yes," he murmured, glassy eyes tracking down Thor's body, "I would abhor it." But his tone implied the opposite.

Thor noted his look at gave his shoulders a little shake. "If you were to actually become pregnant instead of merely pretending, you'd be much too vulnerable to Hela's machinations. The child would be used as currency against me. We cannot risk it. _I_ cannot—"

"Listen," Loki said, snapping out of his daze. "I agree, actually bearing your child is out of the question. But surely there are other ways to lay with me? I am a novice, I know, but even I have heard tell of, of, of _acts_ that would not involve such a danger. Your hands, or your mouth—"

"Have you not heard a word I said?" Thor growled. "I cannot be trusted to restrain myself when it comes to you. I'll—" He gave a grunt of frustration and hung his head, loose golden hair brushing Loki's lips. "I'll become a monster."

Walking into the lion's den. Loki had not thought himself a thrill-seeker before, but perhaps the flare of desire in his chest proved it. He tucked a strand of Thor's hair behind his ear, then laid a hand on his rough cheek. Their gazes met, Thor's miserable and Loki's yearning.

"I trust you in this," Loki repeated. "You have proven to be a man of some honor. I want to be held and touched. Will you do it? Just for tonight? Only one night, and then never again." He swallowed at the thought. It would be like drinking a bitter tincture; he would be cured of this awful desire afterward, surely.

Thor's chapped paw closed over Loki's hand, pressing it to his face. His eyes were points of melting ice. "What if I displease you?" he asked.

"Then I will tell you so, and you will correct your mistake." Loki smiled. "Really, Thor, I'm the inexperienced one. I should be wringing my hands over my performance, not you."

Thor's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "But you do not feel as I do," he whispered.

Loki frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," Thor said quickly. His hand fell away and he stepped back, clearing his throat. "You're sure it's me you want?"

"Yes," Loki breathed.

"Just for tonight?"

An eager nod. "Just for tonight," Loki promised.

Thor's jaw worked, and then he nodded. "All right. I can see there's no dissuading you. If it will give you some small comfort, I will do it." His eyes, heavy with some unnamed emotion, skated to a shadow in the corner.

"Well, no need to be so dour," Loki said with a click of his tongue. "You act like it's a chore."

"No, no," Thor assured. His hands sought Loki's and held them tight. "It's only taking a moment to wrap my head around the idea." He motioned to the bed. "Please, be my guest. Would you like to—?"

There was some awkward maneuvering to be done. It was all very formal. Thor took Loki's robe as if it were a coat and hung it on a peg with business-like efficiency. Loki, naked once more, sat upon Thor's massive bed and looked about, noting the book on the bedside table. He tilted his head to read the words on the spine. He could not decipher every Asgardian rune, but he recognized the word for 'curse' and something about ancient times.

"What were you reading when I so rudely interrupted you with my demands?" Loki asked, trying to lighten the mood. He reached for the book and flicked through it, but it was all in Old Aesir and he couldn't parse its meaning.

Thor plucked the book from his hands and replaced it on the table. "Just some folk tales," he said gruffly. "I've gotten into the habit of reading before bed ever since we went to the library." His eyes went to Loki's bare chest, then darted away.

Loki felt the doubt lapping at his ankles again, but he held fast to the words Thor had said. He desired Loki, had thought about claiming him in the Asgardian way. Completely. Like an animal.

"What is making you so nervous?" he asked, reclining on the pillows. "It's only me." It's only a passing dalliance, he reminded himself, heart twinging.

Thor gave a short laugh at that. His gaze fastened to Loki's face as if he was determined not to let it drift downward. "Even though I have ample experience in the bedroom," he said, "I know your body is different from any I have encountered. This is new territory for me as well."

"Ah." Loki spread his legs, his cheeks heating. When had he become so bold in such matters? Thor's brutish ways were no doubt rubbing off on him—not unlike the way he wished to rub off on Thor. "You better familiarize yourself, then."

"With my hands?" Thor asked. His gaze flickered down, up.

"For now," Loki said, and shut his eyes, unable to watch as the anticipation grew. He gasped at the first tentative touch of those calloused fingers along the hardening ridge of his staff, then along the soft folds of his purse just below.

"Hairless?" murmured Thor.

"Nearly," Loki corrected him, breathless. He took Thor's hand in his and guided it to the small patch of silky black hair at the base of his cock, hidden by his thickening erection. Thor's fingers played amongst the strands, combing through them again and again. Loki shivered. This could almost be a lover's touch, he thought, and not just a perfunctory performance.

"I have taken both men and women into my bed," Thor said. His breath puffed warm against the skin of Loki's inner thighs. "I thought perhaps you would be the sum of the two, but you are something more."

Thor's voice held such a strange note that Loki had to look. He opened his eyes and saw Thor on his belly between his legs, face rapt as he studied Loki's most secret parts.

"You do not find it distasteful?" Loki asked. He would never have admitted, not even to himself, that he had been worried.

Thor looked up at him, peeking over the rise of his cock. "I do not. But if I have questions of you—? May I ask them?"

"What sorts of questions?"

"Well, for instance," Thor's fingertips brushed the smooth skin beneath Loki's prick, causing him to shiver, "where are your stones?"

"My what?"

"Your— Erm." Thor struggled to frame his words. "Where your seed resides."

Loki's brows arched in bewilderment. "You mean my jewels? They're inside with my other organs. Why? Where are yours?"

Thor looked away, red-faced. "Not...inside."

Loki laughed and gestured down at Thor's breeches. "Where do you keep them? In a pocket?"

"No! In a sack. Here. Below." Thor touched the place he meant on Loki, eliciting another shiver.

Loki licked his lips. The erotic books hadn't mentioned this. He tipped his chin toward Thor. "Go on, show me."

Thor groaned. "I'm supposed to be keeping myself under control. Now you want me to shuck off my breeches to satisfy your curiosity?"

"Well, yes," Loki said. "Please? Just a peek."

Thor stayed resolutely where he was, lips pursed. Loki gave him a little kick in the hip.

"I'm sorry I laughed," he said. "Come on. I don't want to be the only one naked; it's giving me stage fright."

After one more moment of staring up at him, Thor heaved a sigh and levered himself off the bed. Loki turned on his side to watch the show of Thor unbuckling his belt.

"Remember, you insisted," he warned as he dropped his breeches.

Loki's eyes widened at the sight of Thor's member, so hard with its veins pulsing up its purpled length. Loki had seen larger, of course, in the Jotun palace's massage rooms, but it seemed to be on the big side for an Asgardian. Its foreskin was pulled back enough that the bulb of a pink head could be seen leaking a pearl of white. And below, as promised, hung the two stones encased in a sack of skin and covered in a rough coat of curly blond hairs. They looked heavy. Ponderous with seed.

Loki's hand was already reaching out before he thought to ask, "May I?"

"If you wish." Thor tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling, making noises to clear his throat.

Loki grasped one stone in his palm and squeezed. Thor squeaked.

"Gentle!"

"Oh!" Loki pulled his hand back with a swiftness, his eyes wide. "I thought they'd be tough."

"They're not, they're very soft and sensitive," Thor admonished, wincing.

A bewildered blink. "Then why are they called stones!?"

"Because—" Thor paused. "Actually I'm not sure."

A grin crept onto Loki's face and soon Thor wore one as well. They shared a near-hysterical peal of laughter, more at their absurd predicament than anything.

"You should call them sponges instead," Loki said through his mirth. "Or down pillows. Something squishy and easily dispatched." His hand returned to Thor's body, and this time he carefully weighed the delicate stones in his hands, rolling them gently in their sack.

Thor tossed his head back with a groan. "You can call them what you like, I suppose." Another pearl of white oozed from his cock, sending the first one sliding down his shaft to disappear in the thatch of coarse hair.

Loki watched, fascinated. "Are you so affected by just this?"

"Yes." Thor took Loki's questing hand in his and lifted it from his person. "You should stop." He bent and reached for the breeches that had fallen around his ankles, his hard cock bobbing.

"No, wait," Loki said, holding out a hand to arrest Thor's movements. His eyes found those little chips of blue. "Won't you take off your clothes? You'll be more comfortable."

Thor leveled a look at him. "You play with fire, Crown Prince."

"If I didn't trust you to not mount me like a dog against my will, I wouldn't have come here." The idea alone was enough to make his cunt twitch. Oh, how he wished to be released from this torture. Loki touched Thor's arm lightly, hoping it was seen as a friendly gesture and not one of desperate need. "Please. Let me see you too."

Thor's sigh was otherworldly. "Fine," he said at last, and began stripping with a warrior's efficiency. Loki watched as his Aesir husband was revealed piece by piece: the golden-furred legs, the strangely smooth skin of his back, the flecks of brown on his shoulders, his barrel chest, his corded arms. Loki knew somewhere in the back of his mind that the sight of this pale, coarse Asgardian body should repulse him. It was alien and horrible. And yet, when he saw those ice-blue eyes looking down at him, awaiting his judgment, he saw nothing ugly in Thor. In a way, he had a sort of brutal beauty.

"Good," Loki whispered as he gazed over Thor's ready body. "Very good. Now come here." He took Thor's hand and pulled him back onto the bed atop Loki.

They resumed their earlier position, Loki laid out against the pillows and Thor, newly naked, between his spread legs. Thor ran his fingertips along the cleft of Loki's purse. Loki's spine went stiff at the unfamiliar touch, rougher and less sure than Loki's own.

"Will you show me how you please yourself?" Thor asked. "Take my hands and put them where you need them."

"All right." Loki swallowed, reaching down. He took hold of Thor's right hand and crooked his fingers, then moved Thor's hand so that his knuckles brushed along his purse's lips.

"Just this?" Thor asked. "Not both?" He nodded to the head of Loki's staff in question.

"Not right away," Loki gasped. "It's too much right away."

"I see." Thor studied the sight before him with so much intensity, Loki wondered if he might make a passable scholar. "You like to be teased at first, then." His warm breath was like another set of fingers on Loki's skin, stoking the fire inside his belly. "Ah. Wet already." The point of his knuckle dipped into Loki's folds and came away glistening.

"Yes, that was fairly quick." Loki tried to keep his breathing under control. It wouldn't do to embarrass himself on his first time. "Here, my staff next." He took Thor's left hand in his and guided it where it needed to go, thumb and forefinger circling the engorged head.

Thor's lips quirked. "You call it your staff?"

"Well, what do you call yours?"

A sly smile spread behind the thickening erection. "A sword that needs a sheath," Thor laughed.

Loki covered his mouth with his hand to hide his grin. How unbecoming it would be to giggle during. "That is truly awful."

A shrug. "Perhaps. And this? Does it have a name?" Thor tapped his knuckles gently against Loki.

"My purse, of course."

"Ah, where you keep your treasure."

"See? You're learning."

"Fast enough, I hope." Thor continued working his hands along Loki, a thoughtful look passing across his face. His gaze flicked upwards. "May I taste you?"

Loki's giddiness melted away. Some of the nerves were back, but so too was that burning curiosity. "You may, but—" He held Thor's eyes. "Take care."

Thor did not look away, but opened his mouth and ran his pink tongue along Loki's smooth shaft, his lips closing around its head.

Loki turned his head into a pillow to stifle his cry. He couldn't watch such a display. The sensations alone were enough to undo anyone: the rasp of Thor's beard on his skin, the heat of his mouth, the way his fingers brushed more insistently at the seam of his purse, collecting more of the gushing slickness.

"Is this all for me?" Thor asked, his voice dark with desire. Loki peeked down and saw Thor lift his fingers to his own mouth and lick them clean. Another muffled gasp and his face was back in the pillow.

"Loki?" Thor stopped touching him, which was intolerable. "Is this not—?"

"It's fine, just fine," Loki said, popping up from his hiding place. "Keep going. And keep— Keep talking to me." He stared down at Thor. "It's filthy. I like it."

"Our little Crown Prince likes to hear filth?" Thor's face took on a predatory glee, teeth flashing. "Can it be true? You were once so prim and pure. Now look at you." He swiped the flat of his tongue through Loki's wetness, causing him to whine and shake with pleasure. "You're so hungry for it."

"Yes," Loki panted. "I am."

"Then I must give you what you need." Thor licked into him, deep in his folds, his hand still working at the head of his cock. He seemed to be everywhere, slavering between Loki's legs, engulfing his prick one moment and plunging sinfully inside with his tongue the next.

Loki chanted insensible pleas as his body was overtaken, a writhing thing that knew only Thor and the promise of his touch. "More," he said into the pillow, "please, anything."

Before he knew what was happening, Loki found his hips lifted high into the air so that he was nearly bent in two. Chapped hands spread him wide, one each on the globes of his ass. Thor bent his head and licked along his cleft, tongue catching along the rim of his hole.

Loki's body jolted even as he squirmed. This was so taboo, unlike anything Loki had ever dreamed possible. Did all Aesir put their mouths there? Or was Thor uniquely depraved?

"Thor, that's—" he yelped. "That's too—"

"Filthy?" Thor raised an eyebrow and waited, holding Loki aloft with his great strength.

Loki went lax in Thor's hold, his eyelids drooping. To this, he would submit. He had to; he would die otherwise. "Do it again," he murmured.

Thor did. His tongue darted around and into Loki's hole until Loki begged for even more.

He laid him down again and set to work, worshipping every hidden spot of Loki's with his mouth. Thick fingers teased at the entrance to Loki's purse, and Loki canted his hips to try to draw them in, but Thor withdrew.

"I don't want to—" He cast about for words. "Your maidenhead. You'll bleed if I'm not careful."

"My veil's been pierced already," Loki panted. He urged Thor ahead with another desperate wriggle of his hips. "It's fine. You can go deeper."

"How?" Thor's eyes went wide, then very narrow. "Did someone—?"

"No, don't be ridiculous," Loki said. "I wasn't violated. It was the horse."

The rage seeped from Thor's face, replaced with confusion. "The _horse_?"

"The riding! Apparently it's very common." He flushed. "Now am I to be interrogated all night or will you give me your fingers?"

Thor let loose a startled laugh. "Sorry. Here, tell me how you like this."

He tucked one finger into Loki's purse—and one in his other spit-slick hole. Loki liked that just fine and told him so between great gulps of air. Thor smiled, sucked at Loki's staff and said things to him that should not be spoken aloud. Dirty things, depraved things.

"You would let me do anything to you," he whispered before nipping at the softness of Loki's thigh. "I could find a sheath for my sword in you right now. I could fuck you full of it, and you would welcome me. You would wrap me in your embrace and hold me inside until I was drained."

Fear and wanting entwined in Loki until it was impossible to tell which controlled him. He only knew that if Thor did decide to mount him, Loki could not—would not—stop him.

"Will you do it?" Was it a plea for Thor to practice restraint, or to do what he so boldly described?

Thor pressed a kiss over the bite he'd just left. "No," he said, "I could not." He quieted then, seeming to have lost his words.

Loki perceived through the haze of pleasure that the bed was rocking with more than just his own movements. He craned his head and saw that Thor's hips were pumping faster and faster against the mattress below him.

"Are you rutting against your bed like some animal in heat?" Loki asked.

Thor hissed. His muscles bunched and flexed as he moved with even more force. "What else can I do when you're making those noises like a trained slut?" And he sealed his mouth over Loki's cockhead, pulling his release out of him, his fingers still working away.

Loki cried out, his eyes rolling upward. He could feel his seed pulsing into Thor's swallowing throat. His purse spasmed over and over. Never before had he found his peak so electrically, twin pleasures wracking his body in waves of light. He was a slut, he thought wildly, an absolute slut for this Aesir. Loki knew he should be ashamed but it felt too good to confess it, if only to himself.

He was still engulfed in a haze of satisfaction when Thor's wrecked voice floated to his ears, urgent as if he'd been repeating himself.

"Hm?" Loki blinked down at Thor. His body felt like clouds. "What was that?"

"I said I'm close." Thor's clever tongue swiped away a drop of Loki's seed from the corner of his lips. The entire bed shook with the force of his thrusts. "May I mark you?"

Loki's mind was so dulled with his climaxes, he couldn't parse the words. He had no idea what Thor might mean by 'mark' but he felt generous in a way that was very new to him, and so Loki merely said, "If you like."

Thor's eyes lit up with eager lust, and he lifted himself to his knees. Loki saw then the state of his cock, thick and flexing, dripping with wetness. Thor wrapped a hand around its red girth and pumped himself.

"What—?" Loki asked, still not understanding. Then Thor surged forward, looming over Loki, held up by one hand on the mattress beside his hip, and Loki understood what he meant to do. The thought of such a sinful act snapped him back into full consciousness. He opened his mouth to protest but it was too late.

Thor came with a roar, his seed splashing across Loki's body. Great white dollops of it decorated his stomach, his chest, across one aching nipple. Loki gasped at the sensation, shocked that this was being done to him. But Thor was not finished; his stones still pulsed in their sack, and he reared up on his knees once more, repositioning his cock to aim further upward.

Loki lifted a hand out of instinct, but again, he was too late. A spurt of Thor's seed flew between his spread fingers and succeeded in landing on his cheek. More followed: a bit across the bridge of his nose, some in his hair, on his chin. Loki's eyes shut of their own accord, his hand still raised uselessly. His breath came in loud pants. He was covered in Thor's spend. Hot. Redolent of sex. Indelibly marked.

"Oh, Gods." Thor's calloused thumb brushed a glob of seed from the corner of Loki's eye. "How incredible you look."

Loki shook as he opened his eyes. The sight of his body laid out beneath Thor, coated in his come, shocked him as nothing else ever had. To Jotuns, ownership was a foreign concept when it came to bedmates. Yet here was Loki, allowing an Aesir to claim him in the most sordid way imaginable. It was wholly unnatural, that pearlescent white on his cobalt skin.

He closed his eyes again and pressed his face aside into the pillow, wanting only to hide. A whimper escaped his throat. What had he done?

"Loki?" Thor made a noise of concern. His palm cupped Loki's jaw. "Is something wrong?"

Everything, Loki wanted to say.

"Did you not enjoy it?" Thor asked. His hands moved gentle and slow across Loki's face, wiping away the streaks of seed. "You said I could. Did I mishear you?"

How foolish Loki would seem to Thor if he tried to explain how, in his innocence, he had given permission for what he did not know. So he only choked out, "There's just so much of it."

Thor seemed to relax, giving a soft huff of laughter. "That's how it is with me. Brimming, most often." His thumb swiped away a drop of come from the edge of Loki's lower lip. "Would you like me to clean you?"

"Please," Loki breathed in relief. To be rid of the scent of Thor's spend—that was what he needed.

But instead of leaving the bed to find a washcloth or something to wipe Loki clean, Thor laid beside him and touched his face. Loki, not understanding this odd behavior, turned his head as Thor's touch coaxed him to. Thor leaned in and for a moment Loki was convinced the brute was about to kiss him on the mouth. Such a gesture was reserved on Jotunheim for long-bonded helpmates, and though Loki cared little for tradition, this was one he'd never thought to break. He froze, unable to process the idea, and so did not move when Thor licked him.

Thor's tongue ran down his cheek, swiping away the streaks of seed. Not a kiss, but a wet touch not far off.

Loki's eyelids fluttered. "You would eat your own spend?" he asked.

"Why not?" Thor licked another bit of come away. "If I'm to expect my lovers to taste it, I think I should be willing to do the same."

"You expect me to—?"

"No, no," Thor said in a rush. "Unless you'd like some?" He gathered a droplet on his fingertip and held it out in offering.

"No thank you," Loki said, not as assured as he'd hoped to sound. He was curious, certainly, but shame held him back.

Thor shrugged and sucked it from his finger, then continued cleaning him the way a lion might bathe a cub. Loki closed his eyes and allowed it. As strange as it was, the sensation was not unpleasant. The room fell silent, the only sound that of Thor's mouth moving softly along his skin, down his body, licking away the evidence of their transgression.

Loki's heart calmed from its riotous beating to a normal rhythm. Next time, he thought, he'd be prepared for the marking and it wouldn't take him so off guard.

Then he remembered there would be no next time. There was only this, as Loki himself had decreed.

He trembled as Thor's tongue swiped at the swell of his ribs. Only this, then nothing more? Loki wondered how he might make the night last longer. He needed more time, needed more of Thor's mouth. He wasn't cured yet. The fever had only worsened. He stared up at the ceiling, limbs afire. How could it have worsened?

"You're so beautiful," Thor murmured as his mouth traced one of Loki's heritage lines over the curve of his hip.

Loki's heart thudded to a stop in his chest for one moment of freefall. He'd never been called anything but misshapen before. The words made no sense to him.

He looked down at Thor. "I'm not," he said. "Don't try to flatter me with silly lies."

Thor gazed up the length of Loki's body, the blue skin shiny with Thor's spit. He pillowed his bearded cheek on Loki's thigh and stared at him, his eyes unblinking and soft.

"Don't call me a liar," Thor said. His voice was so strange, so warm. Fondness, Loki realized with a start. He was hearing fondness.

And he liked the sound of it. Wanted, absurdly, to hear it more often.

Not good. That wasn't good at all.

"I should go," he said, sitting up and dislodging Thor from his resting place.

"Go? But—" Thor rose to his knees on the bed and watched Loki swing his legs over the edge of the mattress. "It's so late. Won't you sleep here tonight?"

Loki looked at him askance. Of all the shocking things Thor had said and done, this invitation was surely the worst of it.

"Here?" Loki sputtered. "With you?"

Thor ducked his head. "It was just an idea. Only if you wanted to."

Loki thought about this idea. It was true that it was very late, and Loki was very tired. And Thor's bed was very soft and very warm. And Thor himself was like a furnace and would certainly keep the chill at bay.

For practical reasons and nothing else, Loki might stay.

But he also knew that staying would bring him ever closer to falling off that knife's edge. The horrible affliction had not abated, and if Loki stayed this night, he might return the next night and the next, on and on until—

Until the beast had truly captured him, mind, body, spirit, everything.

How could he even be considering such a foolish thing? He was this brute's captive, nothing more than a pawn in a game. Loki could not allow himself to fall prey to such dangerous desires.

His silence stretched out for too long as he considered all this. Thor finally spoke again.

"I will understand if you would rather return to your own bed. You are probably more comfortable sleeping alone, are you not?"

"I don't know," Loki blurted out. "I've never—" He clamped his lips shut. He'd never shared a bed, except with Thor, when they'd fallen asleep side by side. An indiscretion that Thor didn't even remember, and one Loki secretly held close to his breast like a talisman.

His isolation, up to the point of his capture, had been so complete. He hadn't really understood how complete until now, with the Odinson offering him this. It is often the case that we want the things we've never had, and in this, Loki was no different. He wanted. And was ashamed of his want.

He wrapped his arms around his frame and shivered.

Thor, seeing this, came to sit beside him and pressed close. He let Loki rest his head upon his strong shoulder and rubbed his chilled arm.

"I swear I do not snore overmuch," Thor said. "And I have never had complaints of kicking in my sleep or stealing blankets. As far as bed-warmers go, you could do far worse than me."

"Such a strong recommendation," Loki said, but there was no bite to his words. He'd already decided: just for one night, and then never again. "All right. We may as well get some rest."

Thor's face lit up with undisguised delight, but Loki did not see it, so consumed was he with his fretting. When Thor guided Loki beneath the bedsheets and into his arms, Loki laid his head upon Thor's solid breast. How odd, to be so close to another that you could hear their lungs and heart working. Loki shifted, finding a place on Thor's chest where his head fit nicely. The heat of his pale Asgardian body was so wonderful. Even his smell, which had been growing on Loki, seemed a comfort.

"Good?" Thor asked, his fingers threading through Loki's wild black locks. His lips brushed the crown of Loki's head.

"It's fine." Loki yawned. He closed his eyes, sure that it would take him hours to fall asleep in such unfamiliar circumstances, but he was pulled under within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. This chapter was written LONG ago for the most part and I'm so happy to let it out into the world. Enjoy this (brief) moment of goodness and light!


	11. Chapter 11

Weak winter sunlight filtered through the curtains. Loki clenched his eyes against it, ready to seek more sleep, but his pillow sighed beneath his cheek. His eyes snapped open, staring at the expanse of milky skin he rested upon.

Thor, he remembered.

Thick fingers were still tangled in his hair. He tipped his head up to find Thor awake and looking back at him. Loki had been drooling; he could feel the dampness of it on his chin, and he wiped it away with a quickness.

"Hello," Thor said. His voice was rough but quiet. If he'd noticed the drool, he was gallant enough not to mention it.

"Good morning," Loki returned in much the same way. He laid his head back on Thor's chest, his gaze going distant. What was supposed to come next? Loki had never been in this situation before, and feared it would be very awkward.

They said nothing else for a long span of moments. Thor's fingers danced along the inky strands of Loki's hair, combing through it idly. Things didn't feel awkward so far. In fact, it was all fairly pleasant, quiet. Loki curled his hand next to his face and wondered at the difference of Thor's skin beside his. Sky and cloud. Ocean and sand. He could drift off again if he just closed his eyes, could sink into another dream.

"Is it still night?" Thor asked eventually.

"What?" Loki frowned across the expanse of Thor's chest. Their trysting must have addled the brute's brain. "The sun is rising. Why would you think it might be night?"

"Because if it were," Thor said softly, "our time would not be over, and I might make love to you again." His hand, so soft in Loki's hair, stopped its combing.

Loki stiffened in Thor's arms. Dangerous thoughts to be shared in the morning light. "Thor, we shouldn't—" No matter how much he wanted to.

"I'm sorry; I presume too much." Thor left him quickly, there one moment, gone in an eyeblink. He rolled to sit on the edge of the bed, leaving Loki to recover his wits alone amid the sheets. His hand passed over his face, his beard, and he did not turn. "My brain is often mush this early in the day. Pay me no mind."

Loki stared at Thor's bare back and searched in desperation for something to say. The quiet was growing too long. Insults, then, easy and comfortable on his tongue. "To be fair, your brain is often mush at all times of day."

A little laugh from Thor. Forced and false as his eyes. Loki wished he could see those eyes, or something other than that broad back. He reached out a hand to brush the brown flecks along Thor's shoulders—freckles; he remembered the word from an Aesir book; they dotted the nose of a strapping milkmaid who managed to marry a prince—but Loki thought better of it and retracted his fingers.

What could he say? His mind, his heart, was all in disarray.

Then the door swung open.

Loki jumped about a foot in the air, clutching the bedclothes to his chest. Thor, acting on some kind of Asgardian battle instinct, moved quick as lightning to shield Loki with his own body. But it was only blank-eyed Heimdall who stood in the doorway, carrying a tray laden with breakfast.

"Good morning, my Prince," said the manservant as he swept into the room.

"Heimdall!" Thor choked out. Then, meeting Loki's nervous gaze, asked him a question with his eyes. Loki shook his head furiously. He didn't want to explain their private dalliance to anyone, even Thor's trusted right hand. "Uh—" Thor groped for words to say to Heimdall. "What are you doing here so early?"

"My Prince, it is the usual time," Heimdall said in quiet admonishment. He floated over to the windows and opened the curtains.

Loki winced at the unwanted light. Though Heimdall was blind, Loki still feared being seen. He looked longingly at his robe hanging on the peg by the door. Could he slip out without the old servant noticing?

As if sensing Loki's thoughts, Heimdall drifted over to the pegs on the wall. "Shall I brush your winter cloak for today?" he asked Thor, reaching for the offending garment.

Loki bit back a cry. His hand would surely touch Loki's own silk robe, and then their rendezvous would be discovered! His nails dug into Thor's arm where they pressed close.

"No!" Thor all but screamed. Then, once Heimdall paused in his tracks, he said more calmly, "No, thank you, Heimdall. I gave it a good brushing myself just yesterday."

"Did you?" Heimdall raised a brow and turned back to the breakfast tray to fiddle with some plates. "Very well. Will there be anything else for the moment, my Prince?"

"No, nothing. Feel free to see to any other tasks. Elsewhere," Thor said.

"I will take my leave, then." Heimdall glided toward the door. Thor and Loki breathed a silent sigh of relief in unison. Then Heimdall turned, hand on the doorknob, and said as if the question had just occurred to him, "Would you like your own breakfast brought here, Crown Prince? Or shall I take it to your chamber?"

Loki froze, mortified. Beside him, Thor gave a ridiculous snort of feigned laughter. "What do you mean, Heimdall? Loki isn't—"

"You're both breathing as fast as racehorses," Heimdall said. "I still have my ears, you know."

Loki hissed, his forehead falling to rest against Thor's back. "Fuck," he said. Really, the sentiment encompassed it all.

Heimdall smiled to himself and gave the couple in bed a nod. "I'll bring it here, then, along with a change of clothes perhaps? Good morning to you both." And the ass practically floated out of the room.

"He knows," Loki groaned. He pushed himself out of bed and took hold of his silk robe. He couldn't be naked one moment longer.

"Heimdall will not tell anyone," Thor said. He sat on the bed in the middle of the tangle of sheets. "He excels at keeping secrets."

"It's not Heimdall keeping his mouth shut that concerns me." Loki yanked his arms through the soft sleeves. "It's the embarrassment of having him know what we've done. How am I to face him now that—? Ugh, I feel ill." He belted the sash tight around his waist and dug his hands through his mussed hair. He'd lain with the beastly Aesir, begged for his touch, had been covered in his spend. It was bad enough that Thor had witnessed his weakness, but Heimdall? The man was practically Thor's second father! Shame threatened to swallow him like a hunter in a bog.

He pressed his fingertips to his sleep-crusted eyes and took a deep breath. When his hands fell away, he saw Thor sitting there where he'd left him on the bed, a troubled look painted on his face. He stared into the banked embers in the grate and would not meet Loki's gaze.

"I'm sorry the very idea of last night turns your stomach," he said quietly. "I was under the impression that you had enjoyed yourself."

The deep V of Loki's robe threatened to gape open, so he clutched it closed about his throat. "Last night was a necessary diversion," he said for his own benefit as well as Thor's, "but we have much more important things to concern ourselves with now."

"How stupid of me to forget," Thor said. His voice held a hard edge that Loki did not much like. "I must be the biggest fool in the Nine." He got out of bed and strode naked to the inlaid chest, rummaging violently through it for his clothes.

Loki, out of politeness, averted his eyes from that nude form. "I didn't say you were stupid," he said. "I only meant—"

"It doesn't matter what you meant," Thor said as he dressed. "Take your breakfast here if you like. I'm leaving."

That snippy tone made Loki's hackles rise. "I don't suppose you'll tell me where you plan to go and what you mean to do?" he asked in kind.

"You suppose correctly." Laces fastened, leathers pulled on, and Thor was heading to the door, leaving his tray untouched. "Good day to you, Crown Prince."

The door slammed shut so loudly, Loki jolted with it.

Now the oaf was cross with him? What right did he have! Loki had been very clear: they'd share a bed only for one night, then never again. What did Thor expect? For Loki to shout about it from the rooftops? He'd have to be daft.

Loki sat upon the narrow settee before the cold fireplace and stared into its empty maw. A kindred spirit. He placed his chilly fingertips against his lips.

One night, he'd said. What else could Loki afford to give?

When Heimdall returned with food and Loki's black clothes, his face fell upon hearing only the one heartbeat, the single series of ragged breaths, the clink of Loki's gold bangles as he uncrossed his legs to stand.

"Was my Prince called away?" Heimdall asked.

"No." Loki took the clothes from Heimdall's unresisting hands. He hoped his tone made it clear he did not wish to speak of last night, or anything really to do with Thor. "He just left."

"Left? For where?"

"How should I know? I'm not his keeper," Loki said, and summarily dismissed the man so he could dress in peace. He'd considered asking for a bath but didn't wish for more servants to come traipsing in with the buckets of hot water and seeing him in this state. He'd just have to ignore the smell of Thor on his skin and the uncomfortable stickiness between his legs. He left his food to grow cold as well. The cooks would think no one had any appetite that morning, but so be it. Loki had more pressing things to think about.

He stalked through the hallways, trying to enjoy his newfound freedom to explore but feeling as if all joy had been sapped from him. The stares and whispers from passing Asgardians swirled about him, but he was not bothered. He needed a candle more than he needed their acceptance.

If you have ever dabbled in witchcraft, you will no doubt be familiar with the fact that nearly every spell that can be woven by those without true ability begins by lighting a virgin candle. This practice has no doubt been touted as de rigueur by the candle making industry, but that is neither here nor there. What matters is that candles, depending on their color, are thought to bring good fortune, portend the future, ease births, and show the way to love. And if all that fails, then at least the witch is left with a decent source of light.

Loki had decided that an orange candle would be needed for his conjuration—that being the color of justice, something he felt was sorely needed in the Queen's case. His mental list of other supplies was lengthy: some herbs, a piece of looking glass, a personal effect of Frigga's, bits and bobs that would supposedly direct energies toward his goal. The candle was a good place to begin. An easy task, Loki thought, to find the cupboard where the tallows were kept and filch one for himself.

He spied a servant girl wearing the simple white cap of that class, scurrying down the hall with an armful of tapers, no doubt on her way to replace those in the Great Hall that had burned low. A frisson of distaste went through Loki; the royal household of Jotunheim did not keep servants as the Aesir did. It would go against the austere Jotun sensibility to imply that the King needed a battalion of lackeys to wipe his arse. Yes, there were Jotun of low rank who saw to the more mundane work at Jotunstad, but these positions rarely lasted more than a few months. Drudgery was shared, as most things are among those people, by rotation. Here in Asgard, by contrast, Loki had come to understand that servants—with perhaps the exception of Heimdall—were born and died as such.  

But Loki did not have time to ruminate on the differences of their class systems. He needed to know where the candles were kept.

"Excuse me—" he said, approaching the girl.

The girl yelped and nearly dropped her candles, so surprised was she to be addressed by someone of high birth. Her surprise only deepened when she saw who it was that spoke, her wide eyes taking in Loki's face and tracing the patterns of the heritage marks on his brow.

"Sir?" she squeaked.

Loki smiled in what he hoped was a calming manner. "I only wondered where I might find a new candle for my room," he said.

The girl paled. "I replaced your candles just yesterday, sir. Are they already—? Oh no, please tell me I didn't forget!"

"You're the one who brings me candles?" Loki frowned. He'd thought Heimdall managed all that. Everything he needed always seemed to appear when he was absent from the room, or while he was asleep.

"Yes, sir. I'm your chambermaid, sir."

"But I've never noticed you about the place before."

The girl shrugged. "That's sort of the way of it, sir. You're not supposed to. The Prince's man always lets me in to do my work."

Loki clicked his tongue. He'd been dreadfully rude to the poor girl. "What's your name, then?"

"My name?" She balked. "Why would you need that, sir?"

"So I might talk to you as two people are supposed to talk," Loki said patiently. "They call me Loki the Small, if that's at all helpful."

The girl hesitated, the candles shifting in her arms. "Bil," she finally said. "I'm sorry, sir, but I thought perhaps I was in some kind of trouble."

"You're in no trouble, Bil," Loki promised. "I only wanted your help in finding a particular candle that would...match my furnishings. Do you think you could show me where they're stored?"

Bil looked about the empty hall helplessly. "I'll bring one to you. Please, I could be whipped for letting a royal like yourself hunt about in the cupboards."

"Whipped?" Loki's mouth fell open. "Are you joking?"

The girl seemed on the verge of tears. "Sir, please." Her eyes darted in the direction of the Great Hall, its golden door shining in the distance. "I've already dawdled long enough."

Loki perched his fists on his hips, stunned. He and Thor would need to have a talk about the treatment of chambermaids in the palace—if Thor would deign to speak to him again after the morning they'd had. He shook his head.

"Apologies, Bil. Go see to your duties, and if you could please bring a candle to my room later today—orange, if you can, or yellow if that fails—I would very much appreciate it."

"I will, sir. Thank you, sir." Bil managed an abbreviated curtsey with her arms as full as they were, then she ran down the hall toward the golden door.

Loki watched her go with a heavy heart. He had thought himself the only prisoner within these walls, but now he knew it was not so. He turned to go toward the library; in the absence of a candle checked off his list, he could at least spend his time looking for something personal of Frigga's that might aid his spellcasting. Perhaps a diary written in the lady's own hand was hidden among the stacks of books.

He rounded the corner, thinking on this, and almost collided with Hela.

"Ah, the Royal Consort," she said as Loki peered up at her. A smirk curled her lip. "What are you doing wandering the halls on your lonesome? Doesn't my brother have the courtesy to escort you like he should?"

"The Prince was otherwise occupied this morning," Loki said. He resolutely did not tremble before her though every instinct screamed at him to run, hide, get away from this madwoman. She towered over Loki in her high boots, an obelisk of black and green. Loki swallowed. His mouth was dry as sand. "I only wanted a short walk to get my blood moving."

Hela's sharp eyes moved down Loki's body, resting on his belly. "Yes, you should take care of yourself in your delicate condition." Her grin widened into a blade. "Come, walk with me. We have much to discuss, little giant, and have had barely a moment to ourselves since your handfasting."

It was laughable, Hela acting as if they were bosom friends when they'd never been anything but lifelong enemies. Loki cast about for some excuse to decline her invitation. His gaze swung wildly up and down the hall as he tried to seek out an escape, but they were completely alone in the hall. Where was Thor? Now that Loki needed him, he was nowhere to be found.

"What's the matter?" Hela asked as his hesitation stretched. She swept out a hand in a gesture of assurance, fingers razor tipped at the nails, armored in gems and precious metals. Her teeth showed in a flash. "I don't bite."

With no other choice, Loki fell into step beside the Death Goddess. Together they walked the length of the lonely hall. It seemed that every courtier and servant had disappeared into thin air. Perhaps they were avoiding the General on purpose, Loki thought. Or perhaps they smelled blood in the air.

"How are you finding Asgard?" Hela asked as they walked. She folded her hands behind her back. The General overseeing her battlefields.

"It's lovely," Loki lied. "I've been made very comfortable here."

Hela snorted. "I find that unlikely," she said. "This place is a hole."

Loki looked at her askance, but made no reply. Surely it was a trap.

She met his gaze with an amused tilt to her brow. "What? It's true. You may have been cloistered away for much of the time, but even you must have noticed how this country operates. Men," she sneered, "ruling over everything. Sons lifted up while the women of Asgard languish. You're lucky." She wagged a pointed fingertip at him. "The Jotun do not bring low half their number just so the other half might thrive. I've always admired that about your people."

"I must say I'm surprised, General." Loki's jaw worked. His anger made him bold. "I was under the impression that you thought very little of Jotunheim."

"Mm. The proud Aesir, the _superior_ race, fighting valiantly against the cruel giants," Hela drawled. "A bedtime story for children. Do I play into it? Yes, when I must." She nodded at Loki. "But we two have more in common than not, don't you think?"

"I confess I don't follow," Loki said, picking his words as steps through a minefield.

"Well, look at your situation," Hela said. "You were the firstborn of Laufey; by rights, the heir to the icy throne. But because of your size…." She trailed off, tipping her head to the side. "Now here you are, carrying my brother's supposed spawn."

Loki's breath caught. So she suspected their ruse. "The child is Thor's," he managed to say. "I have lain with no others." (A sliver of truth served alongside the lie.)

Her armored shoulders lifted with her laughter. "We'll forget that for the moment. My point is, you and I would both be denied our birthright if others were to hold sway." Her boots rang like war gongs on the flagstones as she walked. "You see, while you had the misfortune of being born on the small side for your race, I made the grave error of being born a woman."

The hair on the back of his neck stood upright. "What do you mean?" asked Loki.

"You know exactly what I mean." Hela snorted. "They call my brother Odinson, but does anyone spare a thought for the Odindottir? Of course not. And so I had to forge my own path." She turned a corner, beckoning Loki to follow, which he did for lack of any other option. "I was raised amid war and destruction and death," she continued, "so I learned to master those things. I had to be fiercer than any other warrior. It was the only way I could avoid the destiny others had drawn up for me."

They stopped in a dark shadow between two torches, and Loki looked about, trying to figure out where they'd wandered. It was so empty here, no tapestries or portraits to be found. They could have been anywhere in any hallway, almost like a world between worlds. Loki shivered.

"Everyone expected me to be the perfect, simpering girl-child," Hela was saying, "but I knew early on that marriage and childbirth would not suit me." Her sallow eyes speared Loki where he stood. "If I were a man, I would be praised for my skill in battle, and my choices would not be questioned. But because I am a woman, they call me mad."

Loki sucked in a breath as he felt Hela's sharp-tipped fingernails trail up his arm.

"We know better," she whispered. "They can call us what they like. Monster. Runt. Weakling. Butcher. Bitch." Her smile promised blood. "People like us will always be underestimated. Well, I say that just makes it sweeter when we strike."

"We?" Loki croaked.

Hela grasped Loki by the shoulder. Her hand, like the rest of her, was stronger than it had to be. Bruises would form in a moment, Loki was certain of it.

"Don't you want to be on the side of the victors, little giant?" she said. "Stand with me and we will burn all in our path. The old ways will fall. We will build a new Asgard, a new Jotunheim. We can take the thrones that they would deny us, and the corpses of those who have done us wrong will lay piled at our feet." Hela leaned in close. Her breath was hot as fire. "All you have to do is pledge yourself to me and I will release you from your bonds."

 _Who put them on me in the first place_ , Loki thought wildly, but his mind was swiftly consumed with the promises that Hela made.

You will remember the moment that Loki first came to Asgard, when he was filled with anger at his capture. How he craved vengeance against the Aesir, his enemy, and against his sire who had discarded him. He had been ill-used by so many. Here was a way to see that rage brought to its shining, glorious fulfillment.

You would be tempted, too. To say otherwise would make you a liar.

In that moment, Loki did not fully understand Hela's reason for extending her hand in friendship—such as it was—and what purpose he might serve in her quest for power. But we, the impassive onlookers of this drama, can understand, can we not? For all her bluster, Hela knew what she plotted was bold, perhaps overly so. A tyrant like her would never allow a loss, and so she would bring Loki under her control before allowing an unknown variable such as he to potentially throw a wrench in her careful plans. Loki was more important than he realized—a fact that we all could learn from, as it happens.   

But Loki was thinking only of the future. He could wear the crown of wood and bone. Could save his people from generations of slaughter. And all he had to do was help destroy that which he hated anyway.

But what about—?

"Thor," he breathed. He met Hela's eager stare. "What would become of Thor?"

Her face warped into something ugly. "Why should you worry about Thor's golden head?" Hela asked. "You owe him nothing. There will be no place for him in our new world."

Loki opened his mouth, but no words came. He thought of that morning—it seemed so long ago!—when the light had spilled across Thor's bed. Thor's touch, his voice, his damnable gallantry. There would always be a place for Thor, he realized. A place in Loki's own heart.

He knew his emotions were writ large across his face and he tried to draw his old mask down over them as swiftly as he could, but it was too late. He had been seen. A snarl lifted Hela's lips as she watched him try to hide it all.

"So it's like that, is it?" she said. Her hands clenched tighter at Loki's shoulder.

"What is?" Loki replied blandly, wincing. "I haven't made any decision yet."

"Yes you have. Look at yourself. Tossing aside a chance for everything you've ever wanted, and for what? For _him_?" Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "As if he would ever care a whit for a thing such as you."

Loki's heart lurched in his chest. No, she was wrong about Thor, he told himself. She hadn't seen his face in the morning light or heard that fondness in his voice. Thor might never love him—who could?—but he had treated Loki with tenderness, and that was more than could be said about most everyone in Loki's life. Loki couldn't betray that. Couldn't betray him.

His only recourse was to cling to his mask in the face of Hela's attack. "I have no idea what you could mean," he said. His voice did not waver.

Hela rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "Oh, puny giant," she sighed, "I learned long ago to do without foolish sentiment. Why haven't you?"

Loki tipped his chin upward. Proud to the last. "I suppose we're nothing alike after all."

Hela let go of Loki's shoulder only to grasp his throat. Loki convulsed in her grip, but her otherworldly strength kept him pinned to the stone wall. Her white face loomed inches from his in the gloom. He struggled to breathe, to focus. Was this how the Crown Prince of Jotunheim was to die? Having the life squeezed from him by the Mad General?

"Listen to me, you little shit," Hela hissed. "I do not need you. My offer was made out of pure benevolence."

We know otherwise; in that moment, so did Loki. If he could have choked out the words, Loki would have made some cutting remark about the ways Hela chose to show her generous nature. For his own sake, it's just as well he couldn't speak.

"When you claimed to be with child," Hela said, "I thought it a simple lie to gain Odin's favor. Now I think maybe you do indeed carry the babe. It hardly matters. But know this, Jotun whore." Her mouth came right up to Loki's ear. "If you give birth to my brother's heir, I will not hesitate to hold the little monster by its ankles and bash its brains out on the nearest rock."

Loki whimpered in terror. The child from his dreams, the one who looked at him with Thor's blue eyes! Though the child did not even exist, Loki felt a protective urge overtake him, and he struggled in Hela's grip, his hands clutching at hers where they held his throat.

Hela only laughed at his feeble attempts. "Did you really think I would allow a half-breed within spitting distance of my throne? I would do it just to see the look on Thor's face," she said. Her voice was hot in his ear again. "He's so weak for children; it would break him to see his own get die by my hand. He wouldn't even put up a fight afterwards."

A tear fell from Loki's eye. His stomach roiled in horror. Not that. Not Thor.

"You, I'd keep alive at first. You can watch as I take him apart. Slowly. Intimately. In all the ways I know he fears. And in that moment, surrounded by death," she said, "you will remember that you should have taken my offer."  And then, she released his throat.

Loki fell gasping to his knees, tears on his cheeks, unable to do anything but fight for breath. He felt Hela towering above him. The toe of her boot nudged his leg.

"Oh, and by the way," she said brightly, "do feel free to pass along my message to Thor." Her smile sharpened. "He'll act rashly, I imagine. My brother has a terrible habit of letting his emotions rule over him. Like the weakest of women."

With that, the Mad General swept away, her footsteps ringing out a tattoo on the floor as she walked.

Loki stayed kneeling for a long moment, sobbing with the effort to take in enough air, his heart speeding in his aching chest. In time, he picked himself off the ground and stood on wobbly legs. He hurried as fast as he could back to his quarters, wiping his face and turning up his collar to hide the injuries to his tender neck.

Hela knew.

She knew what no one should know, what even Loki himself had not known until it had been forced out of him—that he felt more for the Odinson than lust, than trust, than grudging admiration. And those feelings were going to get them both killed.

You stupid fool, Loki berated himself as he hastened to the safe haven of his room. You stupid, stupid, _stupid_ creature. You've handed Hela the knife that she'll gut you with.

He unlocked his door and rushed inside, shutting it firmly. His lungs still worked like a bellows. He stared at the smooth wood of the door beneath his hands and tried to think. What could his next move possibly be?

"Sir?" said a tiny voice behind him.

Loki whipped around, his seidr pulsing against his bonds. His breath came out in a whoosh as he saw it was no attacker locked inside the room with him. It was only Bil the chambermaid standing frozen with an orange candle in her hands.

"I brought it like you asked," she said, holding the thing aloft. "Shall I leave it here on the sideboard, sir?"

"That's fine, thank you, Bil." Loki tried to speak in a level tone, but the words came out all strangled and torn. He moved to the empty fireplace to give his hands something to do. He tossed in a piece of kindling as if he knew the first thing about building a fire himself.

It was only then he realized he was shaking.

"Are you cold? I can do that for you, sir," Bil said, and moved beside him to lend her assistance. Loki murmured his thanks and watched her work. This close, the girl couldn't help but see the marks blooming purple on Loki's throat above the line of his collar. Loki caught her stare, and she looked away quickly.

"Are...are you all right, sir?" she asked.

Loki swallowed. "I've been better," he admitted.

"Is there anything I can do? To help?"

She sounded so naively sincere that Loki felt his eyes prick with tears. Not here, he chastised himself. Not in front of this poor girl. He hid his face in his hands and felt his spine shiver with the control it took not to weep. The truth was no one could help him, not this chambermaid, not his piddling attempts at scrying, not his Aesir husband. He was going to die in the land of his enemy, alone at the end after all.

"Oh! Sir, I'm so sorry." Bil's hand fluttered at his sore shoulder as if uncertain whether it was welcome. "I don't mean to pry, but— Did the Prince—?" Her own voice was choked with tears now, her round face puffy with it. It was clear from her distress what she was asking.

It may not have been wise, and it may not have been well-considered, but Loki told the girl the truth. "No," he said, dropping his hands from his face. "He'd never. It wasn't him." His fingertips trailed along his bruised skin. It would take days to fade, he knew.

Bil furrowed her brow. "They say he forced you night after night, and now you carry the heir." Terrible pity shown in her wet eyes. "I wish I could make it better for you, sir. It's just awful, the whole thing."

"Listen, my dear," Loki said, taking her hand in his. "Your Prince is many things, but he was not my attacker. Let the gossips say what they will; I'm telling you the truth."

Bil's lip trembled. "Honest?" she asked.

Loki nodded. "Completely. He's a good man." And how it hurt to finally know it.

A sigh left the chambermaid. "I had hoped so. It's foolish, I know, but I always considered the Prince one of the better ones. He's not cruel to the servants, not like…." Her eyes went wide as she caught herself. A prey animal that had nearly hopped into a trap.

"It's all right," Loki murmured. "You don't need to say it. I understand." They stayed there, crouched by the grate, for a long moment. Finally Loki cleared his throat and nodded at the firewood. "Will you show me how to manage this? I never learned to do it without my magic."

"Oh, you don't need to build your own fires, sir."

"I'd like to learn," he said. "Where I come from, it's important to do for yourself. I'm afraid I'm hopeless without your help, though." He offered Bil a watery smile, which the girl returned.

"All right, sir," she said, and proceeded to show Loki the finer points of coaxing the flames into being with nothing more than timber, flint, straw, and a bit of will.

It was much like the conjuration he was planning, Loki mused. No powers involved, just plain ingenuity. And in his case, time. His heart sank as he remembered. He wasn't sure he would survive almost three weeks under the same roof as the Mad General. His gaze wandered from the fire to the sidetable. The glint of gold and jewels—Thor's gift—shone bright in the afternoon sun.  

An idea formed. It was not a very good one, but considering his circumstances, Loki was loath to ignore it. Desperation drove him to the edge of reason, certainly. Who could be blamed for that?

"And that's it." Bil finished her lesson with a flourish of her hand. A little fire grew and crackled merrily in the fireplace. "Did I explain it all right, sir?"

Loki licked his lips and turned back to her. A smile crept along his lips. "Wonderfully, Bil. I think I've got it." His pulse jumped as he chose his next words. "I have to ask: were you serious when you said you wished you could help me?"

A flush rose on the girl's cheeks. "Yes, of course, sir! Only, I'm not sure what I could do."

"I have some thoughts about that," Loki said. He rose and went to the sideboard, where the orange candle laid beside the little golden horse. He hefted the latter in his palm. Solid. Still an excellent bribe, really.

He turned and held it out to the chambermaid. "I want you to take this and find a workman willing to secret me away from here. One of the merchants, perhaps, who make regular deliveries. I could hide in their cart. I would need them to take me to a blacksmith who would be willing to lend me their skills." He dug in the pouch at his belt for the pieces of silver he'd won from Thor's companions so long ago. Pressing the coins into the girl's hands along with the statue, he said, "Keep the silver for yourself. As thanks for your help."

A plan as full of holes as a sieve. How would he pay for the smith's services in striking the bindings from him? How would he gain entry to the Bifrost? And where would he go? Loki had answers to none of these questions. He was only acting on instinct like a cornered animal.

It was not, however, a coward's route that Loki sought. By removing himself from the terrible situation entirely, Loki hoped that his feelings for the beast, already so dangerous though unnamed, could be snipped in the bud. Somewhere in the back of his head, a little voice reminded him that Thor would probably be safer without him anyway.

Bil, who didn't understand how wholly inadequate a plan this was, knew enough to frown at Loki. "Sir, I don't know if I can—"

"Please." He curled her fingers over the precious things she held. "You would be saving my life, I promise you. I wouldn't ask you to stick your neck out otherwise."

Still the girl vacillated, her mouth flapping open and closed before she managed to say, "If you're in so much danger, shouldn't you tell the Prince? If he's as decent as you say he is, surely he'll help you more than I ever could."

"He can't help me," Loki said. For one thing, Hela might be correct; Thor could fly into a rage and be easily cut down in it. For another, Loki had begged Thor for his freedom before and been denied. Why would the brute listen now? Loki closed his eyes briefly. "His hands are tied, so I must ask you. Will you at least try to do this? Please?"

Bil pursed her lips, but in the end, she gave a curt nod. "I'll...see what can be done."

"Thank you." Loki squeezed her hands and then stepped back. "Come here tonight after sunset and tell me whether or not you've had any luck."

The girl was pale as fresh snow. "If you're certain."

"I am. Now go, please." And Loki ushered her from his room.

Finally alone, he hardly knew what to do with himself. There were still many Aesir books on his bedside table, and among the erotica were some that Loki had selected with the hope that they might prove useful in his conjuration. If Bil was successful in her task, Loki wouldn't ever need to cast the spell under the twin full moons, and so he considered ignoring the books. But there was little else to occupy his attention, and he wanted something to take his mind off his disturbing run-in with Hela, and so Loki dragged a chair to the sideboard with a stack of reading material.

Later, Heimdall came with supper and Loki's usual bath. The man must have known of Loki's embarrassment from that morning, for he spoke very little and posed no questions. As Loki washed, he asked Heimdall for some parchment, ink, and quill, and these were delivered to him swiftly. Loki then wrapped himself in fresh sleeping robes, bundled himself in a thick blanket to ward off the evening chill, and sat at his makeshift desk to make notes on important bits from his reading.

One old tome he'd slogged through had mentioned a fighting force of fierce Aesir women, the Valkyrie, who had fought and won many battles in times long past. There were some references to them in the histories that outlined the early days of the war with Jotunheim, but Loki could not find any mention of them in the more recent chronicles, nor any reason for their sudden disappearance. It was as if one day the shield maidens had all ridden their white horses out of Asgard and simply vanished. Perhaps they were just a fairytale, but that notion did not sit right with Loki, and he wrote down his observations so he wouldn't forget to ask Thor about it later.

If there was to be a later.

He put his quill in its pot for a moment with a sigh. Now that Loki had calmed somewhat, he wondered what he'd been thinking when he'd begged Bil to help him escape. A glance at the window proved that the sun had already set and night was closing in. Loki lit a taper—not the orange one, which he'd hidden away under his mattress, just a normal one—and continued to read by its light. It looked like he'd need to manage this conjuration after all. In all likelihood, the servant girl had absconded with the golden horse the minute she'd left Loki's room. He certainly couldn't blame her; the thing was probably worth more than she'd ever lay hands on again in her whole lifetime. Why, she was probably miles away by now, prying out one of the horse's ruby eyes to pay for a quaint little cottage where she might live out her days in comfort, shaving off bits of gold whenever she required it. Loki rather liked the idea, in fact, and considered his panicked misstep at least had done someone some good.

A knock came at the door, and Loki turned to look at it in surprise.

So Bil had come back after all. Loki went to the door, still wearing his blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape. A smile tugged at his lips as he opened the door; the girl was an actual angel.

"I was beginning to think—" he said, and then stopped when he saw it was not Bil standing outside his door, but Thor. "Oh." He couldn't hide his disappointment. "It's you."

The Aesir Prince said nothing, but stood in the flickering shadows of the hallway dressed in his red cloak, his face a complete blank.

So escape was not in the cards tonight. Loki turned with a sigh and left the door open as he went back to his desk. "Come in. Would you like to finish that tale about Lbindi? Give me a moment to finish up here— I just need to jot a few things down."

He seated himself once more at his desk with his half-dozen books laying open and atop one another. He picked up his quill and consulted the passage he'd been studying. Very interesting stuff, these Aesir recipes for summoning spirits. Loki figured that opening a door to the world between worlds would be quite similar, and so wrote down some of the more relevant points.

He heard the door shut and Thor's footsteps as he crossed the room. It was impossible to completely ignore the brute's presence, but Loki tried his best to concentrate on his work. If Thor wasn't going to speak first about what had been said that morning, then Loki supposed they just wouldn't speak of it at all. They'd just go on as they had before. That was best, wasn't it?

Thor's shadow fell over Loki as he wrote. The heat of his body, right behind Loki's chair, was a palpable thing. Loki remained silent. He willed his hand to keep moving across the page. The scratch of his quill against the paper and the crackle of the fire were the only sounds in the room.

Thor reached his arm out over Loki's shoulder. He placed something on the table beside Loki's inkwell with a light clink. It was the little golden horse, its gems gleaming in the candlelight.

Damn. Loki closed his eyes and set his pen down on the page, not caring if he smudged it.

"Thor—" he began.

"You are lucky the girl came straight to me," said Thor in a voice that seemed devoid of any warmth. "If anyone else heard of this, word could get back to my sister. We would be exposed as frauds, and I don't want to think about what she'd do then."

Loki sighed and adjusted the blanket across his shoulders. "Poor Bil. I suppose she kept the silver? Ah, well. No harm done."

"No harm—!" Thor gripped Loki by the shoulder, the one that had been so cruelly bruised by Hela, and spun him around in his chair. His eyes were like the blazing blue heart of a flame. "Is this all a joke to you? Is that it?"

Loki bit back a wail of pain at his tender shoulder being grabbed so harshly. Tears stood in his eyes with the effort of keeping himself in check. He stared up at Thor, tall and terrible, lit from behind by fire.

"Do you see me laughing?" he shot back. Then, more slowly, "Let me go, Odinson."

Thor unhanded him with a scoff. He turned his back as if he needed a moment to collect himself, then rounded on Loki once more, rage overtaking his visage.

"You promised me," he said. "You said you wouldn't attempt to flee again, at least while it was still winter."

"I never made that promise," Loki said. "You were the one who said you _hoped_ I wouldn't try to leave again."

"You led me to believe you agreed," Thor growled. "And last night— You made me drop my guard. You deceived me!"

"I deceived _you_?" Loki stood, a fire in his belly once more. "And when, pray tell, will you be honest with me? You refuse to tell me of these plans of yours even though I know you mean to cut me out of them!"

If Thor was angry before, he was incandescent now, his mouth twisting on his bearded face. "I have explained the danger to you again and again!" His hands came up and clasped Loki by the shoulders as if to shake him. "When will you listen!?"

Loki couldn't help it this time. The pain flared too bright, and he cried out.

Thor released him in an instant.

They stood there, staring at each other, panting. Eyes wide, searching.

Thor started forward.

Loki put up a hand. "No, don't—"

But he could not stop the force that was Thor on a mission. The Aesir Prince tore the blanket from him, revealing the mass of bruises on Loki's neck. Loki turned his head aside, unable to watch Thor's dawning realization. He didn't see when Thor reached for the lapel of his sleeping robe, but he felt Thor tug it down to bare his shoulders. Loki gave a little gasp as he was exposed, his other injuries made clear.

"Dear Gods," Thor breathed, for the marks were a frightful sight. They turned Loki's cobalt skin into patterns of black and purple.

"Are you satisfied?" Loki pulled his clothing back into place, scrounging for as much dignity as he could while holding back his tears. "I have my reasons for wanting to flee, and though this may come as a shock, not everything is about you." A bit of truth alongside a lie again, for as much as he wished to be far away from Hela, Loki wished to outrun his growing affection for Thor as well.

Thor choked like he was about to be sick. "Did my sister—?"

"Who else?" Loki snapped.

"When?"

"Does it matter?" Loki shut his eyes and held his robe closed tight over his sternum. "This morning. After we...parted ways."

"You should have told me," Thor said. Only a little of the old heat, mostly pain. "I thought you trusted me."

Loki looked at him then. "Not with this."

Thor stood before him, a torn man. "Are you…? Were you hurt anywhere else that—?"

"No." Loki shook his head. "It's just a few bruises. It's nothing." It wasn't nothing, but what could Loki say? That his true injuries were in his heart, his soul?

"Did she threaten you?" Thor asked in a low voice.

"Not as such," Loki said. His eyes darted away. He couldn't recount all the horrible things Hela had said. How she'd described killing their non-existent child. How she planned to kill Thor. The telling would only reveal to Thor how much Loki cared for him, and that, Loki resolved, must be hidden at all cost.

"But she hopes to plunge you into terrible disorder," Loki continued. "You mustn't let on that you know of this." He touched a hand to his own throat. "You must act cheerfully ignorant of her plans. It's the only thing we can do to keep her off guard."

"My own consort is abused in my halls and I am to do nothing?" Thor growled.

"Exactly." Loki picked up the blanket and covered himself once more. He felt so raw, standing before Thor like this. Worse than naked. "You will do nothing, and let her think that we do not speak of these things to each other, that we are not allies."  

"Is that what we are?" Thor asked. "Allies?"

Loki looked away.

Thor shook his head. His hair, still worn loose, brushed along his broad shoulders. "I see." He took a step toward the door. "Good night, Crown Prince."

"Wait," Loki said quickly.

Thor stopped. "Yes?"

Loki's dry throat worked. He desperately wanted to ask Thor to stay, just to sleep, only to sleep, but knew that asking would be a foolish mistake. A childish wish on a fairy wing. He couldn't admit how shaken he still was from the day's events. How he longed to find safe haven in Thor's arms, to listen to his heart beat into the night. Two bodies curled close together. In case of a nighttime raid.

But Loki could not ask, and Thor did not offer. Those blue eyes had already shuttered. Windows devoid of candles. Glass iced over in a winter storm. Loki had to try to return them to the place they'd been before last night. A fine place.

"I knew my attempt to escape was a feeble one," Loki finally said. "Please understand, I was at my wit's end. If you want me to make you that promise now—"

"Don't," Thor said. Cold as the ice-flats. "It would be worth very little." He went to the door, and then he was gone.

In the quiet of the empty room, Loki let his eyes fall shut and allowed his tears to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I don't like it either! 
> 
> This was a tough one. I know I say that a lot, haha. Anyway, please leave your comments and love and everything. We're getting there!


	12. Chapter 12

Nineteen days.

Nineteen days before both of Asgard's moons would be matched in fullness. Nineteen days before Loki could attempt to bring the lost Queen into the waking world, to prove that she had been locked away by cruel Hela, who now sat upon the throne while Odin slumbered. Nineteen days he would have to endure the worst ice he'd ever experienced—that of the Odinson's coldness which had descended after their argument and would not lift in its season of hurt.

You would think that Loki, who had already whiled away the days and hours of his captivity in various arrangements, would be used to the idea of waiting patiently. Alas, Loki the Small was not and never would be practiced in that art. His skin prickled; his stomach churned. He detested every moment he felt helpless in the face of the coming storm.

Oh, he made attempts to use the time wisely, it's true. If he had felt it safe to keep a journal of his efforts, it might read something like this:

Day One—licked wounds; stared into the abyss of loneliness; ate but one sweet bun and stayed in bed.

Day Two—roused early; made lists.

Days Three through Eleven—collected items needed for the conjuration including a broken bit of mirror (Heimdall will replace that); the feather of an owl; a cat's claw; a sprig of potent make-swift herb; a smooth river stone. Still need something belonging to the great lady.

Day Twelve—considered running away again; practiced fire-starting instead.

Day Thirteen—the bruises have faded.

Day Fourteen—

You get the idea.

It was an interminably length of time for Loki, who never did do well when left to his own devices. And though he tried to stay focused on his spellcraft, it was not possible for that task to consume every waking moment, and so Loki fell prey in this time to some very bleak thoughts indeed.

Chief among them were thoughts of Thor.

The brute tormented Loki—or at least, the idea of him did. If the coarse Prince would just forget his anger and make peace, all would be well again. Yet Thor avoided him like he was vermin. And even this could not keep Loki's traitorous heart from fixing itself to that foolish Asgardian!

Loki had heard tell of war prisoners who, after prolonged captivity, began to sympathize with their enemies, even think of them as friends. Was that what was happening to him? No, he decided after mulling it over. His imprisonment had not broken his mind or rendered him incapable of reason. He could still see Thor's flaws, after all, and despite them—well, that was the problem, wasn't it? Despite it all, something warm bloomed in his chest when faced with the thought of Thor.  

He couldn't help those feelings—just as he couldn't help the dreams that visited him in his lonely bed. Loki would writhe amongst the bedsheets, sweating, aching, waking to either uncomfortable wetness or painful denied release. One night's dream was particularly galling. In it, Loki walked through a shaded glen that seemed to be both of Asgard and of Jotunheim. Half the ground was frosted with new snow, yet the trees and plants flourished like those in the woods surrounding the Aesir palace. At the bottom of a gentle slope was a waterfall, crashing clear and cool into a misty pond.

In the dream, Thor stood beneath the spill of water, his loose hair slicked tight to his skull. He was washing his face in the fall when he opened his eyes and saw Loki. A bright smile took his lips and he beckoned Loki to join him. As happens in dreams, Loki was instantly in the pool beneath the pounding waterfall, bare and easy. Thor was holding him, moulding himself to Loki's back while mouthing along the curve of his neck. Loki gave himself over to the dream and let it unspool like a glorious tapestry.   

"Where are the children?" Thor asked. His nose was buried in Loki's soaked hair.

Children? Loki blinked the droplets from his eyes and saw, crouched there on the bank of the pond, two little shapes, one blue as Loki, the other milk-skinned like Thor. As he watched, the little ones looked up at him. The bigger child waved a blue hand. Blue eyes on the Jotun face. Red eyes in the Aesir features. They were naked as bathing children often are, and Loki could see the bigger one was shaped as he was, and the other was shaped like Thor—a son.

Yes, that all made sense in this dream-place.

"They're right there," Loki said. He was slow as honey. Turning his head took an eternity. "They're playing at the water's edge."

Thor's teeth were at his throat. "They can amuse themselves elsewhere. I would have a moment alone with you."

That also made sense. Loki didn't even need to call out to the two babes; they disappeared into the woods, and somehow Loki knew they were safe at play. He leaned back into that strong body. Breathed in the smell of Thor's skin. His ugly, exquisite Aesir husband.

"Thor? Those children—" Loki said, turning in the harbor of Thor's wet arms and placing his cheek on the solid plane of his chest. "Our two children—?"

"Yes?" Soft lips at his ear.

Loki's eyes drifted shut. "Give me a third," he whispered.

Thor's growl was a feral thing.

He had Loki's legs wrapped about his narrow waist, his cock thrusting into Loki's purse before any time could pass at all. It felt as easy as breathing, as good as being alive. Loki clung to him. Fingernails digging into broad shoulders. Water falling on them like a torrent of rain. The gravel snarl of Thor in his ear.

"Is this what you want?" Thor said, that filthy edge to his voice. "Me, filling you up? Spilling into you until you're dripping with my seed?"

"Oh, yes," Loki gasped. Perhaps his husband would give him a daughter this time. "Thor, please—!"

A new voice rang clear through the misty scene. "If you would refrain from indulging in your fantasies while we are conversing in your dreamscapes, I would be much obliged."

Loki's eyes flew open. Over Thor's shoulder he saw the Queen standing on the bank with her arms crossed over her chest. A displeased lady indeed.

Loki cried out and fell from the dream-Thor's grasp. Everything around them disappeared in the time of a finger-snap, and Loki found himself once again on an icy cliff much like where he and the Queen had met before. He stood hastily, patting himself down to ensure he was fully clothed. "I'm sorry, my lady," he said, "I— That is— My sleep has been much disturbed of late."

"Not as disturbed as I am," said the Queen in a dry tone. "A mother tries to avoid seeing her children in the clinch, as it were."

The heated flush would not leave Loki's cheeks anytime soon. This was worse than Heimdall catching them in bed together. Thor's own mother! The Norns could have taken him in that moment and Loki would've been grateful.

"One cannot control one's dreams," he said, not meeting her eye. "Believe me, I've tried."

Frigga regarded him with a curious gaze. "Have you told my son you have such amorous designs on him?"

Loki imagined he heard a sneer in Frigga's voice. Of course, the lady would never want a Jotun molesting the golden Prince. How terribly upset she'd be, he mused, when she discovered the marriage.

Loki jutted his jaw to the side. "Surely we should be discussing more important things, my lady. Who knows when I will awaken." He dragged a hand through his hair, an attempt to get his bearings. "We did not have the chance to speak of it before, but I can tell you now that Thor and all of Asgard is in danger. Your husband has fallen into his deep sleep and your daughter sits on the throne."

"Hela is not my daughter. She is not of my blood," said the Queen. Then, softer, "I tried to raise her as my own, but she would not have it. Perhaps her defects are my own failures."

"I do not think one person's failures could account for all of Hela's evils." Loki winged an eyebrow upward. "Forgive me, good lady, but if you did not birth her, then who—?"

Frigga held up her hands. "Do not ask me who actually bore her. They say she emerged fully formed from the blood my husband spilled on the battlefield. There is no trace of the mother, and the King and I agreed to never speak of it."

Loki's mouth went dry. He thought of his own dam walking away into the barren ice-flats. Had Hela been abandoned as well? He shook his head to clear it.

"Be that as it may, I have news. I have been crafting a spell that I think should allow us to speak in the waking world, but I must wait for the correct moon phase to cast it."

The Queen gave a frustrated click of her tongue. "Those damn moons. How much longer will it be? Time passes strangely where I'm trapped."

"Three days at the most," Loki said. "Can you hang on for a little bit longer?"

A wry smile twisted her mouth. "What's a few more days after waiting for a century?" She nodded. "Thank you, truly, for making the effort. I do appreciate it, Crown Prince. I know my son will too." Her eyes sparkled in a way that Loki did not understand.

"I have to succeed before anyone can thank me." He felt the familiar tug of wakefulness at the edge of his mind. "I must be going soon. Three days, my lady, and with any luck, we will see each other again."

"Wait!" the Queen cried. "Does Thor know what you're about to do? Does he know you—?"

But it was too late. Loki awoke in his bed, his legs tangled in the sheets.

Well, he thought, what a fine mess this is. This fever would kill him long before Hela did. Or perhaps Frigga's stern disapproval would render him a puddle of shame before either of those got their chance.

Another day passed in which Loki decided that something would have to be done about his preoccupation with Thor. But what? It would be more than pathetic to throw himself into Thor's arms a second time. It would be less humiliating (and much more gratifying) to have the beast come to him for a change. After all, Thor had said he desired Loki, had outlined those desires better than any of the erotic novels Loki had read. Why shouldn't he be the one to stick his neck out for once? The more Loki thought of it, the more sense it made. He didn't need Thor, of course—but he needed Thor to want him still.  

The brute just required a little nudge, was all.

Such was Loki's thinking when he let himself into the library on the dreary afternoon of the seventeenth day. Outside the palace windows snow was falling in listless whorls on the icy ground, and in the dampness of the hallways, Loki's breath misted. He shouldered open the library door, glad to be inside its cozy warmth, when he realized that the sconces were already lit and the floor was littered with stacks of books that had been plucked from their places.

Thor turned at the sound of Loki's entrance, the torchlight catching on his loose hair, a book in his hands. He wore a soft tunic cut close, the points of his nipples obvious through the thin fabric. If he was so cold, Loki wondered, why did he not wear a cloak?

"I'm sorry." Thor looked away and replaced the book on a shelf. "I did not know you planned to come here today. I will leave you to your reading."

"Don't be ridiculous," Loki huffed. It took great effort to keep his eyes on Thor's face and not his distracting chest. "You needn't scurry away just because I've arrived."

"It's your library, not mine," Thor pointed out.

"Precisely. And as such, I will share it with whomever I wish." Loki swept into the room. "Stay, Odinson. Perhaps in your own reading you'll actually learn something."

He'd been aiming for light-hearted teasing, some of their old banter, but a glance at Thor's face showed a man struggling to form a response that wouldn't be made in anger.

"Oh, come now," Loki said. "You know it was a jest. If I truly found you dull, I wouldn't bother speaking to you at all, would I?"

"You've spoken to me very little these last few days," Thor murmured, turning back to the bookshelf. His eyes scanned the spines arrayed in their battle formations. Loki wished to be the object of that gaze once more, and placed himself closer to Thor's side in a bid for it.

"Well, what was I to do? Wander the halls until I tracked you down?" He lifted a brow. "I admit I've been hesitant to walk about unescorted ever since…." His fingers went to his throat, brushing the tender skin there. Though the bruises had faded, this rift between them lingered. He shook his head; no sense dredging up that. "Anyway, you could have come to my quarters if you wanted to hear me speak," Loki added. His tone bordered on petulant, but Loki preferred to think of it as matter-of-fact.

"Yet I find you here. Despite your hesitation." Thor glanced sideways at him as he pulled down a thick book bound in green leather.

Loki spied the title before the brute cracked it open— _Cursebreakers and Dispels of Elven Origin_. Interesting.

He stood straighter and pretended to be absorbed in a few volumes pertaining to medicinal plants and mushrooms. "Yes, I decided to take my chances. Better than being cooped up in my cell for another day." He chose a book at random and consulted its table of contents. A dozen ways to fuse broken bone, and not one chapter devoted to how to mend the wounds left by verbal barbs. Loki looked over at Thor and took another gamble. "I'm glad I came," he said, and looked away before his eyes drifted down to Thor's chest again.

Though he was still a novice at seduction, Loki felt he knew enough to be dangerous. A few well-timed glances, a word or two insinuating friendly invitation, and he was sure Thor would be offering another roll in the sheets without any trouble at all. There was no reason for the brute not to, unless his ardor for Loki had been completely snuffed out. Loki dropped his gaze to his feet. Had one night been enough to slake all that Asgardian lust? Perhaps Thor simply had no use for him any longer.

When Thor spoke, he was so near and his voice so low that Loki could feel the vibration of it along his bones. "You are lonely still, then?"

"Yes, it would seem so." Why did their words sound fraught with sadness instead of buoyant flirtation? Loki cleared his throat and gestured to the book in those chapped hands. "Such light reading on a gloomy day. Is Elf magic an interest of yours?"

"Not exactly," Thor said, gruff as he flicked through the yellowed pages, "but I do not know where I might find the answers I need, so I am looking everywhere."

"You mean to find a way to break Odin's spell. To regain your powers." Loki gave a little nod as if to say, _See? I know what troubles you._  

With a grunt of frustration, Thor slammed the tome shut and shoved it back in its empty slot. "If my father would but wake, I would go to him on bended knee and beg for him to lift his curse. Without my thunder, I cannot hope to make a stand against an enemy as strong as my sister. But still he sleeps. So I keep searching."

"Curses are just a form of magic, and I know magic better than most," Loki said. He could not keep the eagerness from his voice. His hands reached for titles that caught his eye there on the shelf before them. In doing so, his arm brushed Thor's chest, his shoulder, his belly as he grabbed. Thor stiffened at his touch; Loki noticed it with a thrill in his spine. "Pardon my reach. Do you remember the words your father spake when he tore away your power? If we can figure out what kind of curse was used, we can find the cure. Every curse has one."

Loki swayed further into Thor's space, his long dark hair brushing Thor's face as Loki tried to reach around him for a particular book.

Thor took a large step to the side. "I can recall every word, but it will do us no good. The cure is an impossible one."

"What do you mean? Nothing is impossible, not where magic is concerned." Loki looked over to him, red eyes bright with the promise of a puzzle to be solved. He stepped closer, missing the warmth that Thor's body afforded. His arms, spilling books, bumped into Thor again, this time in the ribs. "Perhaps you can write it all out for me and we can make a study of it together."

Thor sidestepped him and stalked to the straight-backed chair, where he sat and scowled, taking up a book from the floor and opening it over his lap, though he did not read it. "I'm telling you, I have already looked at it from every angle. I'm not so daft as you think me; I know when something is a dead end."

"I'm not calling you daft. I'm only trying to help." Loki caught a second chair by its woven back and dragged it over to where Thor sat. Making use of it, he leaned close to stare into the book Thor now held. "Potions and draughts? That won't be too helpful, I don't think. Here, let me see." He reached out for the book, but Thor jerked away.

"Can you not leave me alone?" Thor growled. He stood as if ready to fight, his shoulder squared as his jaw.

Loki stood as well, feigning innocence, anger suffocating beneath the surface. "I thought this was my library, and you yourself were the guest here. Shall I leave instead?"

Thor looked ready to tear out his hair. "What do you want from me, Crown Prince?"

Loki tried not to let his fluster show. "I think the question is, Odinson, what do _you_ want?" He moved closer. "What was it you said before, the night I came to your room? Something about taking me from behind like an animal?" His hand came up to lightly rest upon Thor's heaving mountain of a chest. "Possessing me completely? Am I remembering that right?"

In an instant, Loki found himself whirled around, rough hands at his wrists. He cried out as he was shoved face-first into the library wall. His cheek was cold where it pressed against the stone. Thor loomed at his back, hot, heavy, breath like that of a frothing warhorse.

"Is this what you want?" he snarled in Loki's ear. His body slammed into Loki, not a bit of space between them. "Is it!?" he demanded.

"I don't—" Loki trembled, the skin of his palms scraping against the rough stone wall. "Don't—" I don't know, he wanted to say, but the words would not come.

"Don't what?" Thor's voice was as bitter as medicine. "Don't do this?" His fingers scrabbled at the laces of Loki's breeches. Loki gasped as the leathers were pulled down his rocking hips. "Don't touch you? Don't look at you? Tell me, Crown Prince. Tell me what I cannot do to you."

The weight of Thor's cock pressed into the small of Loki's back. Fear and wanting gripped Loki by the throat so that he could not choke out anything but weak whimpers. Why had he prodded the brute so? He had only meant to tease out a bit of Thor's old softness, a hand in his hair, fingers searching along his skin. He hadn't expected to unleash the beast of Asgard.

Was Thor going to take him right there against the wall? His cunt fluttered in time with his eyelashes. His legs shook; he would crumple to the ground if not for the force of Thor's body pinning him to the stone.

Thor's hand went to the golden band around Loki's neck, and he thrust two fingers between it and Loki's hot skin, tugging so that it forced Loki's head back a scant inch.

"I could do anything," he said, breath hot as fire on Loki's nape, "and we both know you would welcome it."

Loki's eyes stung with tears. It was true, and he burned with renewed shame at the degradation. The gold band dug into the vulnerable skin of his throat, a reminder of what he was to Thor: a prisoner, a war prize. Nothing. He'd been foolish to think he could be anything else.

"Please," he managed to whisper. His vision was going dark at the edges. A tear fell from his right eye, then his left. "Thor…."

There was a pause in the brute's breathing, a sudden stillness in his powerful body. One frozen moment, and then Thor was gone. His heat left Loki as quickly as a dream, and Loki slumped boneless to the carpet. He tried to put his clothes back into some semblance of order, but he found his hands shook too violently to manage the laces. He looked up at Thor, who now stood far away across the room, hands balled into fists at his sides, his own breeches tight with his ardor.

That bearded face was as hard as stone. "I am becoming a hateful thing," he said, quiet and sharp as a lit arrow in the night. "Gods forgive me, I'm—" He buried his face in his hands.

Loki watched Thor closely, trying to get his breathing under control. He sniffed and wiped at his eyes, then stood as wobbly as a newborn lamb. His hand groped for balance on a nearby bookshelf, fixed his flies. He had no idea what he could say. Everything seemed beyond his control.

He started forward with slow, cautious steps until he was close enough to reach out and touch Thor's arm. Thor shied away at the contact but Loki would not be deterred. He took hold of Thor's hands and peeled them away to reveal those false spring eyes awash in misery.

"I shouldn't have goaded you like that," Loki murmured.

Thor shook his head. "There is no excuse—"

"Walk me to my room," Loki said quickly. "Please."

A huff of breath, a blink of those wet eyes at the ceiling. "You would have me escort you now?"

Trust. Belief. These things that made little sense in this world. "I would." Loki squeezed his hands. "If you are willing."

Thor nearly laughed then, his face crumbling in anguish.

"Come." Loki tugged him toward the door. "Let's leave this place." The library was too close now, too heavy with what had just occurred between them. And too exposed—though no one seemed to venture into this wing, Loki desired the safety of a locked room. He felt the conversation they were about to have would require it.

They walked side by side through the empty halls, hands brushing at times, and Thor flinching when they did. When they arrived at Loki's quarters, Loki unlatched the lock and held the door open, but Thor hesitated before it.

"I should go," he said.

"No," Loki countered. "We should talk, you and I."

Ducking his golden head, Thor went into the room like an animal going to the abattoir. Loki followed him with a sigh. The door closed and clicked shut, the sound loud in the silent room. Thor stood in the center, eschewing the chairs or the bed. His arms crossed over his chest in a way that reminded Loki of Frigga.

"I cannot offer you apology enough," Thor began without waiting for Loki to speak, "so I will only say that this will never happen again. I will not touch you unless it is in service to our lie, and then, only in the most cursory way."

"Not even if I ask for your touch?" Loki asked. His heart settled into his throat, pulsing wildly. He hadn't meant to speak with such frankness, but his plan to coax the desired reaction out of Thor had failed so spectacularly that he didn't know what else could be done.

Thor met his eyes, his brow pinched. "One night, you told me. Only one."

"I did," Loki conceded, "but I am permitted, I think, to change my mind."

Thor scoffed, turning in a circle as if looking for some assistance in the madness that had overtaken them. "I don't understand. You come to me again? Now? After I—"

"After you demonstrated quite clearly how eager you are to have me once more? Yes," Loki interjected. He stepped forward, biting his lip when Thor took a step back. "If you give me a little warning before you manhandle me against the wall, I'm sure we'll both enjoy it immensely."

A pained look overcame Thor's face. "You can't enjoy it," he said. "Such a thing is impossible."

"Really?" Loki thought back to the night they'd shared, and how he'd come apart under Thor's hands and mouth. A smirk tugged at his lips at the memory. "I recall it being more than possible. Almost assured, in fact."

Thor turned red under his beard, the angry brute once more. "Stop this!" he said. "Stop pretending that you are not a Jotun and I am not Aesir!"

Loki's half-smile fell as the ice of Thor's words encased him. "Is that the problem?" He dropped his gaze. Shook his head. Twice over a fool. "I suppose the last time was, what? For novelty's sake, then?" He could not hide the crack in his voice. All his life he had avoided the advances of Frost Giants who looked upon him as a freak. Would Thor have really done the same?

"What—? No. No, not that." Thor took a step forward, then stopped himself. It was like a pane of glass separated them and Loki could not for the life of him see it. "I mean, your assent cannot be freely given, not to me. Your people have suffered under the attacks of mine for so long; that hangs over our heads, no matter how we attempt to ignore it." He seemed to shiver, his hands rubbing at his thickly muscled arms. "It speaks to your good heart that you have tried not to hold it against me, but—"

"I'm sorry. Wait." Loki held up a hand. His mind swirled with what Thor was saying. "Are you honestly telling me that I am to go without your touch to assuage your _guilt_?"

"My people—my very blood—invaded your homeland and ravaged it like the basest of creatures," Thor bit out. "I will not treat your body the same way. I cannot."

"Listen to me, Odinson," Loki said with not a little heat. "I am not a child. I am not a piece of land. I am a person grown. I have a brain, and I can use it. You do not make my decisions for me." His voice rose as he spoke. "If the prospect of taking me to bed again does not appeal to you, fine, but don't patronize me with this talk of _saving_ me from myself."

Thor retreated back a step. "I did not mean—"

Loki would not have it. He spoke over him, marching forward. "If you think you're doing me a favor by denying me, you can go to Hel. At least do me the courtesy of trusting that I still possess all my faculties. I am not such an idiot as to forget who you are, and where I am, and what we are doing!" He stood battle-ready, fists clenched, the fire in his red eyes raging.

A heavy silence blanketed them as Thor's eyes rested on his face. Those false eyes and their volumes of emotion.

"And what would we be doing, Crown Prince?" Thor murmured. His eyes fell to the flagstones. "How would you use me tonight?"

"Use you?" Loki blinked, softening. Is that how Thor wished to think of this? When Thor did not elaborate, Loki tipped his head in agreement. "I suppose we might use each other. Would that satisfy your sense of...fairness?"

"I don't know." Thor clenched his eyes shut. "I want you. I want you terribly. I know I shouldn't, but I do not know how to stop."

"So don't stop." Loki approached on quiet feet. His hand slipped over Thor's cheek, and Thor groaned, leaning into his palm. Loki marveled at him. The tamed beast. "Our situation has very little opportunity for pleasure. Let us take it where we can, hm?"

Thor's eyes flashed. "But we must agree," he said. "I will not have us repeat what happened in the library. I do not want to frighten you and—"

"I was not frightened," Loki lied, laughing.

"And I do not want to frighten myself," Thor finished. Loki quieted at that. Thor pressed into his touch further, his eyes full of that damned crystalline honesty. "So tell me, if we are to use each other, what you would have me do."

Loki thought on this, his hand still upon Thor's face, his gaze tracking over those worried features. It seemed to take a bit of the mystery out of the thing, to lay out the plan of their lovemaking in advance. Thor's uncontrolled lust was a beautiful thing to behold. Loki was naturally curious to examine it, to measure it, to see how Thor's desires fit him.

An idea formed.

"You pleased me so thoroughly last time," he said, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, "while I essentially did nothing but lie there." Thor opened his mouth, a protest clear in his eyes, but Loki shushed him. "This time, perhaps you might teach me a few of your tricks. I could learn to suck you off if you liked." He lowered his eyes, his boldness giving way to his innocence.

"If?" Thor breathed. "Surely you jest."

It was all Loki could do not to preen at the praise. "You said we must agree," he pointed out. "Let me do that, and in return I would not be averse to a little of that manhandling. Within reason."

"As if reason has any place here," Thor groaned. "Gods, I should resist these urges. I should send you to bed like a child without his supper."

"But I'm not a child, so you'll do no such thing," Loki said sharply. His hand slipped around Thor's neck to bring their faces even closer. "What say you, Odinson? Are we of a mind?"

Thor seemed to hold his breath in the sliver of space they shared. "Yes," he whispered. "Norns help me, yes." His hand, heavy and slow, came up to grasp a fistful of Loki's black locks. "Am I permitted?" Thor asked, tugging lightly.

Loki, hissing, butted his head into Thor's hand like a greedy kitten. "Encouraged, even," he said. He could feel his eyes glazing over, his muscles melting to honey at the touch. His own hand came up to trace the golden band about his neck. "But when it comes to this—" He swallowed. "I would ask you not to remind me— That is, if you could refrain from touching it—"

Thor pulled his head up by his hair so they might share a look. Loki saw nothing but understanding in those blue eyes. "Of course," he said. Then, his gaze dropping to the shining shape of the band, "I'm so sorry for before. I didn't realize."

The air had become too heavy. Loki forced a light laugh to break up the serious mood. "We've nattered on long enough," he said with a cock of his eyebrow. "Come on. Instruct me." He glanced down the length of Thor's body, so close to his own.

With a growl, Thor gave his hair a yank and brought them flush against each other. Loki gasped at the sudden infusion of heat from Thor's skin—and the gleam in his eyes.

"I can already tell you will be a diligent student."

"I should hope so." Loki moved to sink to his knees right there on the bare flagstones, but Thor made a noise of displeasure at that, and Loki, thinking he had acted wrongly, felt his face flush.

"Should I not—?" he began.

"The floor is hard," Thor said, and released Loki's hair—much to Loki's displeasure—to walk to the bed and collect a bundle of blankets and furs from it. He arranged these in a thick pile before the fireplace, fussing with the folds in a low crouch. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable," he murmured as he worked.

Loki watched the back of Thor's golden head, his chest expanding with that unnamed emotion. How was it that this Aesir brute could both haul him about by the hair and at the same time worry for Loki's knees? If he had been merely curious to taste Thor before, he now ached to please him in a way that Thor would remember long after their tryst was done.

"That's better." Thor's voice pulled Loki from his thoughts, and he saw the brute was standing now beside the pile of furs, hand outstretched in welcome. "If you're sure?"

Loki went to him and took his hand, a willing sacrifice on this altar they'd built. He knelt in the soft furs and looked up at Thor, their hands still joined. "At this moment, it's the only thing I'm sure of," he said. He guided Thor's hand to his temple. Sighed when thick fingers tangled in the dark curls and _pulled_.

Thor's prick was thick again in his breeches inches from Loki's face. He cupped the shape of himself with his free hand, his eyes taking on a shadowed cast as he stared down at Loki.

"I would not expect you to do all the things that a more experienced lover would do," he said. "Only open your mouth, and I will take my pleasure."

"Like this?" Loki parted his lips as if waiting to receive a forkful of honeycake. He felt a little bit foolish, kneeling there with his mouth hanging open, but the sight must have been a good one from Thor's vantage point. His cock twitched in the breeches in front of Loki's nose.

"Just like that," Thor murmured, and moved his hand from Loki's hair to grasp the point of his blue chin. His fingers squeezed at the corners of Loki's mouth to make his lips plump and round. "You really want this?"

Loki nodded in lieu of speaking, too afraid that he would sound ridiculous with his mouth pursed like that.

With practiced fingers, Thor's unlaced his breeches one-handed. His cock, fully hard now, was revealed as the leathers parted. Loki watched it with single-minded intent. He hadn't had much of an opportunity to study it before. This close, he could see every vein that threaded up the shaft, the reddish flush of the foreskin, the alien shape of the flared head. A musky smell like well-earned sweat filled Loki's nose. As he watched, a clear drop of moisture formed at the slit.

An answering wetness was seeping into Loki's own breeches, his staff and purse both primed at the sight and scent of Thor's cock.

He opened his mouth wider. His eyes flicked up to Thor and met those blue chips of ice.

A rumbled groan echoed through the room, and Thor took his cock in hand to guide it closer to Loki's face, but he did not aim directly for Loki's mouth, not at first. First he pressed his length to Loki's cheek, rubbing himself there as if marking his territory on that blue skin. He drew a wet line on Loki's face with his cockhead, and Loki gasped when he realized Thor was tracing the heritage mark on his cheek. He closed his eyes as Thor's heavy prick tapped meditatively there just beside his nose. A filthy gesture that Loki could not fathom, but enjoyed all the same.

Thor's hand was in his hair again. "Tell me you want this," he said.

"I want it," Loki murmured. Mouth open and panting against Thor's hot stones. "Give it to me, please."

Thor pulled the hair at the back of Loki's head, just enough to give him enough room to line up his cock at Loki's lips and thrust inside his waiting mouth.

Loki's eyes went wide at the sensation. His mouth was stuffed full of Thor, tasting nothing but his cock and its leaking wetness. His field of vision was only Thor, too, the coarse blond curls at the base of his cock and his milky skin. Loki glanced upward and saw Thor above him, watching with his jaw set.

Worried that he wasn't doing enough, Loki gave a tentative suck at the cock on his tongue. He made a muffled sound of distress as he realized he couldn't take in any more of Thor, not with Thor's hand holding him firmly in place by his hair. His braced his useless hands on the strong trunks of Thor's thighs, seeking leverage but unable to find it.

"It's so like you to try to take everything at once." Thor tugged at his hair in admonishment. "You'll choke if you're not careful."

A plaintive whine fell from Loki's stretched lips, and Thor smiled.

"How I've missed those slutty sounds of yours," he said. His hips pushed forward just an inch as he spoke, giving Loki another bit of his cock. "I hear them at night when I take myself in hand, you know. They're etched into my brain."

Loki's eyes bulged at the image of Thor stroking himself in his empty bed while thinking of him. Another whimper escaped him. He desperately tried to take more of Thor's cock in his mouth, hungry for it. His scalp burned where he tried to wrench free of Thor's grip on his hair.

Thor clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "I told you, you'll choke. You must take things slowly."

In a stroke of inspiration, Loki made his displeasure at this known by gently, gently letting Thor feel his teeth. Thor hissed in a breath, almost releasing Loki's hair in his surprise. Loki grinned around his mouthful with impish glee.

"All right, Crown Prince," Thor said with a snarl. "If you insist." His fingers tightened in Loki's hair, drawing him back just a touch. "Keep your throat relaxed. Do not fight me—not in this. You understand?"

Loki nodded, his eyes gazing upward like pools of red light. He told himself to remember this moment, with Thor above him and inside him, with that strange blue gaze upon him. It seemed important to hold onto this. Then Thor was urging his head forward to take in his entire length, and Loki quite forgot all else.

As Thor's cockhead breached his throat, Loki thought for certain he wouldn't be able to swallow the entire thing. There just seemed too much, too thick, to ever take. But he breathed shallowly through his nose and tried to soften himself. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes from the strain. Saliva dripped from his distended lips. And still Thor thrust forward with more of his length.

"Relax, relax," Thor chanted as he used Loki's mouth. "Nearly there."

Loki gurgled, certain he would gag before it was through, but Thor just held them still and waited until the spasms in his throat subsided.

A noise of approval from Thor, a flex of his cock. "You're doing so well. Look at you."

Yes, look at me, Loki thought. His eyes drifted closed as he imagined what Thor must be seeing. The little Jotun slut, drooling and depraved, warming the royal prick like it was his duty. He couldn't stand the pressure building within him any longer; he lifted his shaking hands from Thor's thighs and scrabbled at the laces of his breeches.

"Yes, touch yourself," Thor demanded. "Are you slick and hard just from this?"

Loki hummed in assent. His purse was plush with readiness, easily taking two of his fingers. His staff was firm as stone. With both hands he worked himself and let Thor fuck his mouth faster, faster, faster, his throat burning with it. His nose bumped rhythmically against Thor as he was dragged forward and back onto Thor's cock. Those delicate stones slapped at his chin again and again.

He could have stayed there on his knees all night if it were possible. He moaned around Thor's length at the thought: perhaps he could stay right here and Thor could shove his cockhead in Loki's mouth whenever he liked. The pile of furs could be his bed, and meals could be left on the floor for Loki to eat between bouts of sucking.

Thor let go of Loki's hair only long enough to pull his soft tunic over his head. "I'm sweating," he murmured. "It's too hot in here."

Loki sought to help the overheated Prince by taking the waistband of Thor's breeches and tugging them down his hips, past his knees. Now Thor stood naked but for his boots and the breeches puddled around his ankles while Loki was, but for his undone flies, still fully clothed. Even that juxtaposition was pleasing to Loki.

It seemed to please Thor as well. He reached both hands into Loki's hair, wrapping it around his fists, and used it to keep Loki still while he pounded away at his mouth. Loki was moaning in earnest now, a long trail of spittle wagging from his lips.

"I'm close," Thor said. "I know you don't wish to taste my spend—"

But Loki whined around Thor's cock, his damp fingers clutching at the furred pillars of his legs. He begged with his eyes. He wanted to taste it now, he needed to. Something had changed in those nineteen days. His desire had conquered his shame.

One of Thor's hands came down from Loki's hair to cup his cheek. "Are you certain?" he breathed. "I could mark your face instead."

Both! Loki let loose a wail and hoped Thor could translate what he meant. He wanted it all.

A heavy groan. "Take it, then," Thor snarled, and dragged Loki off his prick by his hair. Loki, dazed at the loss, looked up at him with bleary eyes, mouth slack. Thor pulled his hair once more. "Open."

Loki opened. He displayed the flat of his tongue as Thor stroked himself an inch from Loki's face. He could not tear his eyes from Thor's.

"Come on," Loki murmured, too impatient to wait one moment longer. "All over me."

A startled gasp resounded from Thor, and the first hot splash of seed painted Loki's cheek. More coated Loki's tongue. Loki closed his mouth to swallow it down—bitter, exceedingly so, like some unknown herb—and more of Thor's spend struck him on the chin.

He knelt there quite still, his eyes shut, listening to Thor's heavy breaths and tasting the unfamiliar tang on his tongue. And he throbbed still with wanting.

There was no warning before Thor barreled Loki over onto his back. Chapped hands tore his clothes away until he was bare and writhing under Thor's bulk. It was all the power that Thor had used against him in the library, but now Loki was expecting it, embracing it, a grin stretching his aching lips at the sight of Thor's lust.

"Your turn," Thor panted. "Gods, you've earned it. Come here. Come—"

Loki yelped in surprise as he was flipped over onto his belly, fists in the furs. Thor was there behind him. He took Loki's hips in his strong hands and tilted them upward, burying his face between Loki's legs and eating away at him with no mercy.

"Thor!" His purse was licked and nuzzled, Thor's coarse beard making the vulnerable skin of his inner thighs tingle with sensation. A hand encompassed his aching staff. "Ah!"

He tried to crawl away from that punishingly pleasurable mouth; it was too much; he would come too soon, and without what he really desired—but Thor was strong and held his hips in an unbreakable grip. Everytime Loki moved away from his tongue, he just followed him across the floor. Insistent and relentless. No quarter.

"Fuck me," Loki breathed into the furs beneath him. "Please, fuck me—"

"I am." Thor's huff of amusement was hot between his legs. A thick finger plunged inside his purse to take the place of Thor's tongue while he spoke. "Do you not feel me?"

"With your staff, with your sword," Loki babbled. "Give me your cock, please!"

"You know we can't," Thor growled. Even as he spoke, though, Loki could feel him rising to his knees, his fingers leaving Loki's purse, his hand still stroking. "I would give anything to be able to, but we can't." He pressed his hips against Loki to let him feel his renewed hardness.

"Do it," Loki snarled. "Just take me." He no longer cared about consequences, no longer thought about dangers. He was a creature that wanted only Thor's seed, and wanted it everywhere. The mess on his cheek was not even cool yet, but he needed more. Loki lunged backward in a desperate bid to capture it inside his body.

Thor cried out as his cockhead caught the seam of Loki's purse and, in the slickness, nearly slipped inside.

"Careful!" Thor pinned him down with a hand on the small of his back. "Gods, Loki, you'll be the death of me."

"At least let me feel it." Loki undulated beneath Thor's hand, trying and failing to get more contact. "Against me, on me, anything!"

"Greedy little thing." He slapped the length of his cock against Loki's backside, and Loki howled.

His own cock twitched and spilled in Thor's hand, and his body jerked uncontrollably in a dozen little shivers. Thor was upon him like a blanket of hot flesh, his prick thrust against the wetness of his seam, not entering but rutting close. Loki's mouth fell open, his tongue lolling. He found a second peak, a third, or perhaps just one very long climax that threatened to undo him forever. Shudders rolled through his limbs again, a tremulous dance. Thor's hands cupped between his legs, holding them together.

"More of it? Here?" Thor asked, and Loki nodded furiously, his wild black hair flying.

Thor spent again between Loki's thighs, gushing over fingers and staff and the over-sensitive slit of Loki's purse. Loki gave a ragged cry as he jolted in Thor's hold. To be covered once more in that musky seed, to feel his seam sticky with it, made Loki feel more wild and alive than he ever had. He thought he would never stop shaking.

Breath. Sweat. Hot skin, hands searching. Sense slowly returned to Loki's brain, and he blinked in confusion as he realized Thor had peeled himself away. He rolled onto his back. A panicked scan of the room showed him standing by the washbasin, wringing out a cloth.

"Thor?" he called. His voice sounded like it had been torn up by a harvest scythe.

"One moment," he said, and returned to the little nest of blankets and furs to wipe away the seed and the slick from between Loki's spread legs. Loki lay there like a doll, panting for air, heart still racing. Every once in awhile, one of his hands or legs would twitch horribly, like the electricity of their lovemaking was still coursing through him. Thor put a warm hand to his face and held him still while he tended to his dirty cheek with the cool cloth.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Just fine," Loki whispered, wishing he sounded less breathless. "And yourself?"

"Very well, thank you." Thor gave him a soft smile, but it slipped away as he struggled back to his feet. He must have kicked free his boots and breeches at some point, for he now hunted about the room stark naked, finding each piece of discarded clothing and collecting them in his arms.

Loki watched this from his spot in the furs. He didn't wish to move yet. Maybe at all, ever again. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Getting dressed," Thor said as he picked up his second boot.

"Why?" Loki patted the place next to him on the mound of furs. "Lay with me. It's chilly without you here."

Thor gazed down at him with an unknowable look. "If I lay down, I will fall asleep," he said, "and I can't imagine you wish me to stay here tonight."

"You can't?" Loki yawned. "I thought it was a given."

Thor stood there with his arms full of his raiment, his shoulders slumping under Loki's scrutiny. "Loki—" he said.

"It's not complicated." Loki scooted over a bit over and patted the furs again. "I slept in your bed. You're obviously invited to sleep in mine."

"That's not your bed," Thor pointed out. "That's the floor."

"Well, I prefer sleeping low to the ground anyway. And it's not as if you're not used to it," Loki said. His face softened into something imploring. All his intentions to not throw himself at Thor had been tossed out the window. "Stay with me. Please."

Thor heaved a sigh. Shook his head. "When will I learn to say no to you?" he asked, and left his bundle of clothes at the foot of the bed before crawling into the nest of furs at Loki's side.

Loki settled himself immediately into his preferred position, his cheek upon Thor's chest, leg tossed over Thor's hip. "Did you want to leave? You don't have to stay," he murmured. Perhaps he should have asked the question before tangling himself around the Aesir like a sea serpent, but no matter.

"No," Thor said quietly. His hand stroked through the snarls of Loki's hair, a gentle echo of his earlier pulling. "I don't want to leave."

Loki shivered at Thor's words. He tucked his head under the brute's bearded chin and wondered how in Hel he was going to survive this. Thor was making it too easy to forget to be afraid. The tapers burned low as they lay there, quiet and warm. Loki pulled a blanket over them both.

"Loki?" Thor asked in the flickering dark. "What are we doing? What is this?"

Loki stared into the shadows and felt the weight of his heart in his chest. He had never considered himself lovely or loved, and so heard in Thor's questions the polite pleas of a man who hoped his little Jotun consort wasn't getting any silly ideas about the future. Of course Thor would never feel as he did, but at least he was kind. That kindness deserved a sliver of honesty if nothing else.

"I don't know," Loki whispered. His fingertips drew patterns across Thor's chest. Invisible heritage marks traced over Aesir skin. "Is it important?"

Thor's throat clicked next to Loki's ear. Quiet and dark. "I suppose not."

"Then sleep." Loki curled closer. Held Thor more tightly. "Just sleep for now."

Loki stayed there, eyes open and staring into nothing, until he heard Thor's breathing fall into light snores. The fingers in his hair ceased their stroking, and Loki knew the beast slept. Yet sleep would not come for Loki. His mind was too full of questions without answers.

He sat up and looked at Thor's face. Relaxed in sleep, his coarse Aesir features seemed a little less brutish. Loki's eyes fell to those pink parted lips and for a brief moment, he was seized with the desire to kiss them. Ruinous. Terrible. Thor would never forgive him for taking such a liberty, and so soon after they'd come to an agreement of mutual respect. He hugged his knees to his chest and thought.

It occurred to Loki that Thor had given him many gifts—the horseback riding lessons; the food; the wooden fork and knife; the golden statue; the library; two nights of pleasure—and Loki in return had given Thor nothing but scorn and, a few times, a canvas for his release. Even though Thor would never love him, Loki still wished he could give the oaf something that would mark his own tender emotions.

He watched Thor sleep in the moonlight. The two moons were visible just outside the window; Loki could see one full and bright, the other nearly there, just a tiny crescent absent from its wax. Two more nights and Loki's plans to open a channel to Frigga could be put into motion.

But passion always makes one impatient, and new fears gripped Loki now in the dark. Hela was still a danger, of course, but so too was the idea of Thor going one more day without the knowledge that his mother still lived. It would perhaps be more difficult to manage the conjuration without the help of the moons, but it wouldn't be impossible. Nothing was impossible when it came to magic—Loki's own words, and needlessly brash at that.  

But I have to try, Loki thought with a fierceness that surprised him. For Thor, I will try.

It would be the only gift he could give, for his heart was not worth presenting.

He brushed a kiss of apology to Thor's brow and left the warm nest of his love behind. He dressed all in black once more, moving quietly so as not to disturb his sleeping brute. The bits and pieces he had scavenged for the spell were hidden under the mattress, and these Loki collected in preparation.

He was still missing a piece, however: something of Frigga's. Something the lady had owned and touched and loved, something that could act as a beacon for her spirit. Loki chewed on his lip as he stashed his supplies in the pouch on his belt. What could he find at this late hour?

Of course. What was more precious to the Queen than her golden son? Loki crept to where Thor's head lay pillowed on a folded blanket. He only needed a little piece of him, and he found it. A single strand of yellow glinting amidst the dark furs. Loki picked it up between his fingernails and gingerly wrapped the hair around the length of his orange candle. Yes, that would do nicely.

For one minute more, he watched over Thor as he slept upon the flagstones. If all went well, Loki would be back before he awoke, and with a way to speak with Frigga. If the spell did not work, he wouldn't even know Loki had been gone.

The door opened, then shut, and Loki slipped away into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I keep saying every chapter was difficult to write : ))) but this one : ))) was very difficult??? 
> 
> Any support is so, so, so important to me. Thank you for commenting and liking and [sharing](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/post/178841506322/chapter-12-the-crown-prince-and-the-beast) if the spirit moves you.


	13. Chapter 13

Magic, as we all know, is mostly improvisation. It is not like baking a loaf of honeycake; one cannot just follow a recipe to produce something serviceable. Magic is more like having a conversation with a new acquaintance—if that acquaintance was the kinetic and psychic energy underlying all living things. One must learn to approach and respond in a way appropriate to a given situation, where every breath is a variable and every change in the weather, a pitfall.

This is all to say that Loki, talented as he was when he had his natural gifts at his disposal, was flying by the seat of his breeches as he prepared to begin his conjuration.

Some instinct drove him toward the gardens, for he felt he needed fresh air on his skin and nothing between him and the moonlight. He crept through the corridors of the palace with the hood of his cloak pulled over his head, taking care that no guards would see him. This spell called for complete privacy, for if he actually pulled it off despite the moonphase being not quite right, then he didn't want anyone to see Frigga's shape and report their movements to Hela.

The royal gardens were obviously empty and quiet at this late hour. A thin film of frost still covered the ground and the foliage, but the velvety snowdrifts had melted away. Loki marveled at the fickle nature of Asgard's winters. In Jotunheim, change did not come so quickly nor so often.

Near the center of the gardens hard by the gnarled tree was the little ornamental pond with shards of ice fanning its surface. Loki's boots crunched through the frost as he made his way to its edge. Water felt right, somehow. Frigga supposedly had been lost in a fen; perhaps she would be found in something like one, too.

Looking over his shoulder to ensure he wasn't being watched, Loki knelt on the ground and unpacked his supplies. The cat's claw and owl feather he arranged atop the bed of herbs. The broken piece of mirror he kissed and placed beside those. Then he took the candle wrapped in a strand of Thor's golden hair and with a bit of effort stuck it into the cold, hard ground. With his flints and hard-won firemaking skills, he lit the wick and watched it burn down until the strand of hair caught and sizzled, curling into a burnt shape in the dirt. The acrid smell of it assaulted Loki's nostrils, but he breathed deep and whispered the words he'd crafted for the spell.

"I seek a Queen in darkness lost. I will find her now, whatever the cost."

(It's not absolutely necessary for an incantation to rhyme, of course, but it certainly doesn't hurt.)

A bone-deep hum reverberated through the quiet garden, and Loki saw the surface of the pond shiver. Rings flowed outward from its center, though there was no stone cast. The hum sounded again, a gong that made Loki's belly quake, and the water rippled anew. A third time it happened, and Loki stood.

"Well," he sighed, "I suppose that's the cost." He stripped off his fur cloak and slipped off his shoes.

The water was freezing. Icy panes floated on the surface, bobbing and parting as Loki waded into the pond. His breeches became soaked, then his tunic as the water reached as his waist. The tiny pond was just for show; how could it be so deep? Then Loki felt something—a thing not of this world—grab him by the leg. He gasped into the frigid air but was quickly silenced as he was dragged beneath the water.

Down, down, down, fathoms deep and deeper still. He could see the light of the two moons above him like blurred coins, but even they faded from view, leaving Loki alone in the dark depths. His breath left his nose and mouth in frantic bubbles. He was not a strong swimmer (Jotuns rarely were) and the thought of drowning made his lungs burn.

Then: air.

Loki fell to his hands and knees on some strange shore, panting and coughing. He was soaked and shivering from the cold. His fingers dug into the earth, but it was not earth. It fell away like dust at his touch.

He looked up into the thick fog that surrounded him. By the dim light of no discernable sun, he saw shadowed figures staggering mindlessly in all directions. No face was visible, no sound could be heard.

"Where am I?" Loki asked aloud, and even his own voice was muffled into nothingness.

It would not do to panic. He regained his feet slowly, wishing his pounding heart would calm itself. He had to focus on finding Frigga. So much depended on it. Loki thought of Thor, picturing him asleep and peaceful among the furs, and held onto the image like a talisman. For Thor, he could withstand whatever price his spell would exact.

But before Loki could take a step—or even decide which direction to go—a shape raced out of the gloom and barreled into him, knocking him into the dust. Loki cried out in pitiful silence as he felt a knife press to his throat. He looked up into a face he did not recognize: a woman, Asgardian, dressed in grey and blue battle raiment, her dark hair wild and spilling, her teeth set in a fierce growl.

Her mouth moved in what were surely harsh demands, but Loki could hear nothing. All was muffled in this nowhere place. He held up his empty hands and tried to answer.

"My name is Loki the Small! I am looking for the Queen!" But his voice was lost in the empty air. He remembered in a flash where he'd seen that blue cloak before—the histories. His eyes went wide. "You're a Valkyrie."

The Valkyrie must have read his lips and recognized the shape of her rank upon them, for she withdrew her dagger, though she did not move from where she sat astride Loki's hips, pinning him in the dust.

Her mouth moved again. _A Jotun? Here?_

Loki nodded. "Yes. A Jotun, here to help."

She squinted at him as if trying to decipher his meaning or, having already done that, deciding whether to believe him. Then a voice—actual and audible—rang through the fog.

"Let him up," said Frigga. She strode forth from the shambling gloom in a gown of orange and gold, a hunter's brace upon her shoulder. "He is a friend of my son's."

The Valkyrie gave him one last sour look before rolling to her feet and offering Loki a hand in rising. He took it gratefully, his gaze still on the Queen.

"My lady, you can speak here? And be heard? I thought this world had made me deaf to all." He still could not hear himself, but it seemed the Queen could, for she nodded as he spoke.

"I still retain some little strength in this place," she said. Clapping him on his shoulders, she smiled. "Welcome, Crown Prince. You kept your promise. Three days, you said, and now here you are."

"About that." Loki winced. "I've come a little early."

"Did something force your hand?" she asked. "Without your full power, attempting such a journey would be foolish indeed."

"I think I've established I am many times over a fool," Loki muttered almost to himself. Then, shaking his head, "At any rate, here I am. If this spell works properly, we will be able to converse in Asgard easily." He reached out a hand. "Come. Follow me back to the waking world. You will appear there as a ghostly avatar, and can at last tell your son and Asgard's court that you are alive, and how you came to be imprisoned."

"And then we can have these struck from you," Frigga said, clasping his wrist where the gold bangle still chained his magics, "and you can free me and my warrior band from our captivity."

"Warrior band?" Loki looked over the Queen's strong shoulder and saw for the first time not just the one Valkyrie with her wild dark hair but a legion of blue-cloaked women, some carrying their swords, some their shields, all staring at him as if sizing him up and finding him lacking.

"Ah," he said. "So that's where they all went."

"Hela was not content to share her victories," Frigga explained, "and especially not with other shield-maidens. She trapped the Valkyrie here long ago, and their disappearance fell into legend." She shrugged. "It worked so well, she did the same with me."

"She will not win," Loki said. He felt in his bones the truth of his words. "We will not let her."

Frigga had a spark in her eye that reminded Loki very much of Thor. "No, we will not, little giant," she said, and gripped his hand.

A rush of water filled Loki's ears, and he shut his eyes as magic enveloped him.

When he awoke, he lay wet and freezing on the cold ground beside the little pond. The bits and pieces of his spell were scattered as if by some great gust of wind though not a breeze stirred. The candle was burnt down to a nub. Loki blinked the water from his eyes as he saw it. How long had he been in that in-between world?

"It worked."

Loki scrambled to his feet and turned to find Frigga—or rather, a transparent image of Frigga—standing there beside the ancient tree. She was staring at her own ghostly hands, the frozen garden, the tree and the sky and the moons.

"You've really done it," she whispered.

A smile crossed Loki's lips. "Did you doubt me, my lady?" he asked.

"Honestly? A little, but I was wrong to do so." She hastened toward him. "Now please, take me to Thor. I have missed him so much; I must speak with him first before all else."

"Of course," said Loki. "If you would come this way—"

But before he could show her the path that would guide them to Loki's quarters, distinct footsteps echoed through the garden. Loki's mouth shut with a click, and Frigga stood still as a statue as the footsteps approached. The stunted old tree would give them no cover; there was no place to hide.

"Crown Prince?" Heimdall appeared from behind a hedge. "Are you here? I thought I heard your voice."

Loki let out the breath he was holding. "Thank the Norns, it's only you."

"Heimdall!" Frigga rushed forward over the frosty ground, her face full of joy. "My old friend! How do you fare?" Her arms tried to embrace him, but of course they passed through him like mist around a tree trunk. Such was expected from the conjuration, and the Queen seemed chagrined to have forgotten it.

Yet despite all this, the Prince's man did not turn his ear toward her, nor make any acknowledgement of her words. "It is rather early for a walk in the gardens, Crown Prince," he said instead to Loki. "Are you well?"

"Heimdall, it's me. Your Frigga." The Queen stood before him, concern painting her regal features. "I know your eyes are gone, but your ears should still hear me." She looked over to Loki. "Why does he not answer?"

"I don't know," Loki said, mouth hanging open.

"You don't know if you are well or not?" Heimdall frowned. "Are you feverish?" He reached a hand out as if to take the temperature of Loki's brow, but Loki ducked his touch. He didn't want to explain why he was soaking wet on top of everything else.

"No, I mean, I don't know why I came here at this hour," Loki prevaricated. "Restless, I suppose. Talking to myself. You understand, Heimdall." He looked at Frigga, a silent apology in his eyes.

"He cannot hear me." She sighed. "Oh, little giant, I don't think your spell has worked as planned after all. If only you had waited for the right moonphase!"

Loki let out a huff of frustration. She needn't state the obvious; he was already berating himself for the mistake! Still, the situation was not unsalvageable. He spoke to Heimdall again.

"I think I will go to the library. Perhaps a little reading will clear my head."

"Shall I escort you?" asked Heimdall. His careful expression revealed just enough: that he knew of the dangers that awaited Loki should he run into Hela alone.

"No," Loki said, desiring privacy above all. "Thank you. I will find my own way. No one is about, after all. Except you, of course." The specifics were left unsaid.

"Of course." The man bowed. "Until breakfast, then."

Loki's mind raced. Thor was still sleeping on his floor and it would take too long to explain the entire thing to Heimdall. "Erm, I won't be needing any breakfast today. Please don't bother." And with that, he picked up his cloak and shoes and headed back into the palace, gesturing for the ghostly Queen to follow.

"I don't understand. Why did you not explain everything to Heimdall?" the Queen asked as they walked. "He is Asgard's most trusted guardian! At least, he was. He should be made aware of my imminent return." She clicked her tongue. "My poor friend. I should have done more to defend him when he had his rank stripped."

Loki swung his thick fur cloak over his wet shoulders. "Imagine me trying to convince Heimdall that his lost queen stands before him, but he cannot hear or touch her. He'd think me mad. Could he see you if he had his sight still?" He thought on this. "We need to test how badly the spell went before we go any further. There might still be effects that we have not realized."

"But can't we—"

Loki heard soft footfalls up ahead in the hallway and motioned for the Queen to be quiet. Before long, a slight shape came into view. It was Bil the servant girl, carrying a woven basket of linens.

"Bil," Loki called out before she could slip around the corner. "A moment, if you aren't too busy."

The girl turned and paled when she saw who was speaking to her. Her eyes did not go to the Queen, who she surely couldn't have missed, as tall and broad as she was.

"Sir," Bil whispered. "Oh, no. I'm sorry, I had to. I couldn't think of what to do but go to the Prince with your little horse!"

Still fretting over the ill-fated escape attempt, no doubt. Loki held up a hand as he stepped forward. Frigga followed him, her head cocked to the side.

"Little horse? What does she mean?"

"I don't hold that against you," Loki told Bil. "You were only doing what you thought was right. But you do owe me ten pieces of silver."

Bil grimaced. "I don't have it, sir. The Prince said I was to take it and—" She quieted, eyes darting to the shadows. "Well, he told me not to say."

A sigh exploded from Loki's chest. "Fine. Your loyalty is to your Prince, as I suppose it should be. Do me a favor, though, and tell me how many people are in this corridor at the moment."

Bil stared at him, then looked up and down the hallway. Her brow furrowed as if she suspected a trick. "Sir, we are alone," she said.

"Just the two of us, then?"

"Yes, sir. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Only making certain," he muttered. He gave Frigga a knowing glance. "Go ahead with your chores, then, Bil."

The girl disappeared with a hasty curtsey. The unseen Queen groaned.

"So no one but you can see or hear me. I know you said things have changed since I've been gone, but have they changed so much that the Crown Prince of Jotunheim could speak before my court and be believed on his word alone?"

"No," Loki said darkly, "things have not changed that much." He beckoned her along. "Come, let us talk in the library. There is much you do not yet know, and should before we go any further."

Is it possible to list all the things that Queen Frigga had no awareness of since she'd been locked away? We shall try. First, she had no knowledge of the immediate aftermath of her so-called death. Thor's rage and the destruction on Midgard, Odin's curse that stole away his powers, the rise of Hela as the favorite—all of this would be news to her, for there had been no opportunity to discuss such things in their shared dreams. Loki hoped that breaking it to her in familiar surroundings like the cozy library would ease the shock.

He was incorrect, of course.

Once he had explained to her all as he understood it, Frigga was aghast. She battered her insubstantial hands against the bookshelves in useless rage. If she had been solid, Loki had no doubt the place would be a shambles.

"This cannot be!" she roared. "My husband would never have allowed this to come to pass!"

"The King has many regrets; he told me of them," Loki said in what he hoped was a mollifying tone. (He could see where Thor's anger came from now.) "Without you at his side, Odin allowed his sorrow to overcome him and erode his will. The only thing he seemed to desire was a grandchild."

"A grandchild?" Frigga ceased her struggles to produce an effect and stared at Loki. "How preposterous. Hela never had any interest in bearing children. How would he—?" She lifted a hand to cover her mouth as it dawned on her. "Oh no. Thor?"

Loki grimaced. She would find out sooner or later. Better to have it come from him. "He's been trapped in an arranged marriage, my lady," he said, "but the marriage is in name only, and Thor has only given the appearance of interest in his consort."

"And who is this consort?" Frigga demanded.

A moment of frozen hesitation seized Loki. He was not looking forward to being the object of her fury.

"Tell me, Crown Prince." She stalked toward him, ghostly gown flowing behind her. "To whom has my husband shackled my beloved son?"

"He stands before you," Loki said. His eyes stayed pinned to the carpet at his feet. He didn't dare look up, not with the crackle of shock piercing the room. He worked his tongue in his dry mouth. "I am sorry, my lady. It was not by choice."

"You? But—" The Queen sounded at a loss. "You're a Jotun."

Loki nodded, his cheeks heating. "That is true."

"So the war between our countries?" she asked. "Is it over?"

"There is a peace accord, but I do not put much stock in it. The marriage was contrived as its seal. It suited my sire to agree since—" Loki brought up one hand and held his opposite elbow. He felt like he might fall apart. "Well. I am not what you would call a desirable heir."

"Wh—? Because of your size?"

"Yes." Loki shrugged, miserable. "And because of my heritage, I suppose I'm not a desirable match for your son either." He struggled to laugh. "It's all very funny if you think about it."

"Look at me, little giant," said the Queen. Her voice was such that Loki was forced to obey, and he saw her standing before him with maternal warmth radiating off her in waves. "I am mist right now, so I cannot shake any sense into you. I can only speak and pray that you will hear." Her hands clasped in a strong knot before her. "I would die before I let any child of mine be treated the way your sire has treated you. If you were mine and you stood but a foot tall instead of six, I wouldn't let a day go by without letting you know that you are _enough_."

A trembling overtook Loki's limbs. He pressed his hands to his hot face. Now he knew where Thor's kindness came from as well.

"Why say such things?" he said into his palms. "You don't even know me."

"Oh, Loki. You managed to conjure me at great danger to yourself. You've persevered where many others would have failed. And I can only imagine you have done this because, despite the circumstances that led you here, you are a friend to my son and want to help him. That is how I know you are enough. More than enough." Her voice took on a teasing lilt as she leaned forward. "And if my son is to be bound in a sham marriage to anyone, I am glad it is you."

(Privately, of course, the Queen wondered how much of a sham it could be if at least one half of the marriage was dreaming of the other half at night, but she showed good judgment in holding her tongue. She could see what it cost Loki to tell her what he had, and it didn't seem sporting to press him. There would be time, she thought, to get to the bottom of that particular puzzle.)

Loki regained his composure with a sniff, dragging his hands down his face as he surfaced. He was so unused to accepting praise that he thought it best just to gloss over the thing. "There's still the matter of Thor's curse to consider. Do you think you might be able to help dispel it?"

"That depends." Frigga lifted her brows. "Do you know what form the curse took? It must have a cure."

"That's exactly what I said." Loki rushed over to the section of the library that held the magical tracts and dug through them for the well-worn books on binding spells. "But when I've questioned Thor about it, he gets very cagey. Almost like he's embarrassed! He says the cure isn't possible and that he must overcome the curse some other way, but I cannot fathom what he means."

"An impossible cure? Such a thing does not exist." Frigga thought on it, her hand on her non-corporeal chin. "Unless…."

Loki looked up from his books. "Unless what?"

"Nothing." Frigga shook her head. "I can think of nothing." But her eyes on Loki became strange indeed, as if she was seeing him anew. Suddenly it seemed there was not time enough for puzzles.

Loki, of course, was too absorbed in his reading to notice her look. "All I know is that at some point, Thor thought I could help break the curse in some fashion," he said as he flipped the pages, "but now he says we must abandon that plan. Who knows why. He's very stubborn, your son."

"Yes," Frigga said weakly. She seated herself in on her mound of cushions in the corner, dropping down heavily. Her eyes were distant and wide. "As stubborn as his mother, I suppose."

"Well, now that you're here, perhaps we can all work together to find the solution." Loki closed the book and returned it to its spot. "I've gone through almost every book in your collection and still I'm no closer to understanding." He perched his hands on his hips and thought. "More importantly, how am I going to convince Thor that you're real when he can't see or hear you?"

Frigga did not reply, so lost was she in her own thoughts.

Loki looked to her. "My lady?"

"Hm?" She whipped her golden head upward and stared at him. "Did you say something?"

"I said, how are we to convince Thor that you're really alive and here?" Loki waved a hand at her gauzy form. "He'll need some proof, I'm sure."

"I am his mother," Frigga said with a little nod. "He will know me even if he cannot see me." She stood with reaffirmed certainty. "Come, let us go now. I'm anxious to meet with him."

They made their way through the hallways, the morning sun slanting now through the slitted windows. Loki cringed; he hadn't meant to stay away so long. He hoped that Thor was still abed in the pile of furs, and that a gentle shake might awaken him. With any luck, the Queen would think that perhaps it was the Prince's own quarters, and that his sleeping habits were just...odd.

His hope was in vain.

Loki unlocked the door to his quarters to find Thor fully dressed and sitting upon the edge of the bed, facing the door with his arms crossed over his chest.

"You left," he said before Loki could open his mouth.

Loki let the shape of Frigga enter before shutting the door behind them. "I did," he admitted, "but before we get into that—"

"You asked me to stay," Thor said. His voice did not rise in anger for once, but was soft as a veal's throat. "And when I did, you left."

Frigga seemed too busy staring in wonder at her son's face to absorb the substance of the conversation, and for this small favor Loki was glad.

He let out a little breath of air in a half-sigh, a nearly formed excuse. "I'm sorry," he said. "There was something I had to do."

"In the middle of the night?" Thor stood and held his hands palm up, beseeching. "I woke to find you gone from my side, and myself locked in your room. I was sure you had at last escaped." He gave a bitter chuff of laughter. "The things I thought while I sat here…."

"You sleep beside my son?" Frigga turned eagerly to Loki. "You did not mention this. You said this marriage of yours was in name only."

"If you could give us one moment," Loki told her with a finger in the air.

Thor's brow furrowed in confusion, for it seemed to him that Loki spoke in strange asides. "Us?"

Loki groaned. Turning to Thor, he said, "I didn't mean to upset you; I intended to return before you woke."

Thor ran a hand through his loose yellow hair, looking away. "You're not making any sense. Where have you been?"

"You can be frank with me," Frigga continued, ignoring Loki's second conversation. "I don't need salacious details, but if your designs on my son are more than mere designs, I would know of it."

Loki looked to her, then Thor, then drew in a deep breath to steady himself. "I am trying to explain." He eyed Thor. "You may want to sit down."

Thor remained standing for a silent moment, his jaw ticking. When he at last retook his seat at the edge of the bed, Loki relaxed just a fraction. Best to get the whole thing out as quickly as possible, he felt. Dragging it out would only result in more annoying cross-talk.

"The truth is," Loki wet his dry lips, "your mother lives."

Thor did not move or speak. His face did not shift at all from its blankness. Loki waited for some reaction, anything at all, but none came.

"I thought at first it was a ghost visiting me in my dreams," he supplied as he paced, "but she and I were able to speak through snatches of conversation, and I came to find that the Queen had been imprisoned in some lost netherworld by your sister."

Those false spring eyes slid over to the window. "Now you're just being needlessly cruel," Thor murmured. Louder, he said, "My mother is dead. I told you how it pained me, and now you twist the knife."

"What is this between you two?" Frigga asked. "Are you lovers or enemies?"

Loki gave her a frustrated glare. "I twist nothing, not now," he said to Thor. He held out his hands, bangles clinking together on his wrists. "She is alive. Without my magics, I cannot free her, but I was able to bring her spirit back to our world. Only, no one but myself can perceive her. I know how it sounds, but I swear this is no trick." He sighed. "Please believe me."

"What does she call me, then?" Thor asked.

Loki blinked. "What?" He looked at the Queen, bewildered. She seemed just as perplexed.

"If my mother is truly here," Thor said, "she will tell you what she calls me, and I will know you are not lying." His face, like stone, betrayed nothing.

Frigga surged forward, her hands clasped to her chest. "My little bear! Tell him, Loki. He is my little bear, my shaggy thing. Oh! I used to say that as I put him to bed at night, just the two of us. His hair would be tangled from the day's adventures." Tears ran down her translucent cheeks. "My sweet boy. My only son. He remembered!"

Loki turned back to Thor, his eyes soft. "She says you are her little bear. She...is overcome."

Like he'd been struck by a blow, Thor's face opened in awe. "Say that again?"

"Little bear." Loki swallowed. "Shaggy thing. She would put you down to sleep. Your hair—" His own heart, missing what it had never had, ached at this small monument to a parent's love.

Thor's lips, having parted, trembled. His eyes filled with tears and he allowed them to fall freely. They cascaded over his cheeks to soak into his beard. "She's really here?"

"Yes, yes!" The Queen knelt at Thor's feet, trying and failing to embrace her son around his middle. Her hands went to hold his face but of course passed right through. "Oh, my child. My darling Thor."

"She's here," Loki whispered. "She sits before you."

Thor looked wildly at the air in front of him, his hands coming up as if trying to grasp a wisp of smoke. "Where? Here? Can you tell her I love her? That I'm—I'm sorry?" He wept. His hands closed into fists. "I'm so, so sorry. I failed her. I should have been better; I should have known—"

His mother's form fluttered about him. "It's all right, Thor. It's all right." She looked to Loki with pleading eyes. "Tell him, please!"

"She can hear you," Loki said. "She says it's all right."

"Tell him I love him, that I will love him no matter what."

"She says she loves you." Loki's own throat was now tight with emotion. "No matter what."

"I've missed you so much, mother," Thor sobbed to the air. "It's been so hard without you. Have you really been alive all this time? Oh, Gods—" He folded in on himself, his wet face in his hands.

Frigga wailed. "I cannot hold him. Loki, please!"

She did not have to ask. Loki was already moving, slotting himself beside Thor and taking him into his arms. He guided Thor's golden head to rest on his shoulder, heedless of the way his tunic became soaked in tears.

"She loves you too," he said into the side of Thor's neck. He was crying as well, he realized. "She is asking me to hold you, for she cannot do it herself."

Thor clung to Loki like a vine to stone. "Thank you," he said. "You brought her back to me."

"Not quite. Not yet. But I will," Loki promised. He resisted the absurd urge to kiss the top of Thor's head. His eyes drifted shut as they remained in that warm embrace, sheltered by each other, taking comfort. Tears fell. And Loki, so close now to Thor, let himself pretend for a moment that he held his Aesir husband as himself and not as a mere conduit between mother and son.

What kind of horrid creature am I, Loki thought to himself, to be taking pleasure in this. It was not a lover's embrace at all; at least, Thor would not think so. Yet it felt so good to be pressed against his skin, to smell him, to feel his heat.

He opened his eyes and saw Frigga standing over Thor's shoulder, watching them with an unreadable look.

"It is not in name only, is it?" she whispered. "Oh, little giant. Does he know?"

Loki did not answer. He cleared his throat and disentangled himself from Thor, creating some distance between them even as Thor's hands clasped his.

"Sadly, we cannot linger. I had hoped to conjure your mother's shade in such a way that she could speak for herself before your father's council or the court, but the spell was not entirely successful, and my word will not go so far before those audiences. We must find another way to make the truth known."

"My own word will not be enough either," Thor said, dashing the last of his tears away with the heel of his hand. "My sister will call me mad if I accuse her publicly with no more proof than a childhood endearment."

Loki pondered this. "If only your powers could be returned to you," he murmured, "then things would be much easier. Hela would think twice about contradicting you if you were more of a match for her strength."

"Loki, I would know more of this curse," Frigga said carefully. She drifted over to sit on Thor's other side, her wispy form not even making a dip on the mattress. "Ask my son if it is anything like the one in the fairytale I used to recite to him when he was being particularly unruly."

"A curse from a fairytale?" Loki frowned. "Why would Thor's curse be like one from a fairytale? This affliction is very real, I assure you."

Thor's eyes darted to his right and left, trying to follow the conversation that was taking place over his head. "Is she talking about the story she would tell me if I was caught being naughty?" he asked.

"Yes," Loki said. "How did you know?"

"Because my curse is very much like that." The brute stared at the empty spot at his side that was occupied by his ghostly mother. He spoke slowly, deliberately. "I've told no one, mother. Only Heimdall. No one else could know, you understand?"

"Tell him I understand," Frigga whispered.

"Yes, she understands." Loki scoffed. "Why does it feel as if you're speaking in riddles?"

Frigga ignored his question. "Ask him if he's sought to find the cure in the...usual way."

With a sigh, Loki repeated the words, feeling very much like a helpless puppet.

Thor chewed his lip. "Tell my mother there was a plan, but I couldn't go through with it. I wasn't willing to pay the price." He shook his head. "Tell her it was hopeless anyway."

"This would all go much faster, I think, if you just explained to me once and for all what this plan is," Loki said. He realized he was still holding Thor's hands in his, and he gave them a squeeze. "You can tell me. It's all right."

Thor looked at him then, his strange eyes awash with some horrible pain. "I can't."

"Loki," Frigga said, her voice urgent as she leaned toward them. "Does he know you dream of him at night? The way I saw you two together in the water?"

Loki fought against the heat rising in his cheeks as he stared past Thor's shoulder at the Queen's pinched face. "What? N-no."

"Why not?" she said. "If you already share a bed and are married in the eyes of our law, there is no shame in it."

"You don't understand. It...would not be welcomed," Loki croaked. "And anyway, what does this have to do with anything?"

"What is she saying?" Thor asked.

"Nothing." Loki shook his head. "It's just nonsense."

"No it's not." Frigga stood tall before him then, her strong arms reaching out in supplication. "Please, Loki. I'm asking you as a mother on behalf of her beloved son. If there is any tender feeling in your heart for Thor, tell him now."

"You may as well ask me to set myself on fire," Loki shot back.

"Loki, what does she say?" Thor demanded.

"She says—" Loki whipped his head to the side to regard Thor's anxious face. Those eyes. His heart quailed at the sight of him even now, and Loki despaired. He wanted so badly to be to Thor what Thor was to him. To be wanted. To be trusted. To know his secrets without any barriers between them.

And in a spark of inspiration, Loki saw how he could have at least the last for himself.

He sat a little straighter. Took his hands from Thor's slack grip.

"She knows a sure way to release you from your curse," he said, "but first, she says you must tell me everything: your plan, its obstacles, what role I was to play, all of it. Only then can she explain her solution to us."

"I did not say that!" Frigga cried. She swiped at Loki with her airy hands. "Take back your lie!"

Thor's brow furrowed at Loki's words. "But— My mother knows why that is impossible, I think. It would be too painful. That is why I have not dared."

Loki pretended to cock his ear to catch some unspoken words. "She says your fears are unfounded, and that all will become clear as soon as you tell me the truth."

"Loki, please." Frigga whirled about him now, tearing at her hair. "Stop it this instant. You cannot do this!"  

"Is she...is she sure?" Thor asked.

Loki nodded. "Positive."

"No!" the Queen wailed.

"Very well." Thor swallowed. "It would be easier to show you. Come."

He stood and headed for the door, his shoulders tight and heavy. Loki followed with a small smile tugging at his lips. Door unlocked, they navigated the palace halls together. The pleas of ghostly Frigga, meanwhile, fell on deaf ears.

"I'm begging you, leave this be. You're making a mistake. Will you just listen!" She planted herself in front of Loki, but he walked right through her.

"I confess I don't understand why I must do this," Thor whispered to him as they walked, "but my mother is wise. I trust her council."

"She says you're right to do so," Loki said, "and that all will be revealed soon." That, at least, was not a lie. Loki was very aware that once Thor revealed his secret, Loki would have no miracle to offer from Frigga. He would have to tread lightly. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he would be able to come up with an idea of his own once he had all the facts. Yes, he told himself, he would at last be able to help Thor without this hanging over their heads.

They came then to Odin's private wing and stopped before the barred door that Loki had noticed only briefly the day the Allfather had fallen into his deep sleep. It seemed so long ago. Loki approached the door with caution, wondering why Thor would bring him here. His glance must have showed the question plain on his face, for Thor gave a deep sigh.

"Just a moment," he said, and produced a ring of keys which he used in succession to unlock the door's chains and bars. Frigga shimmered to the side with her head in her hands, having fallen into a dreadful silence. Then the door was open, and Thor ushered Loki inside.

The first thing Loki noticed in the small, circular room was the pedestal at its center, atop which seemed to float a warhammer of exquisite make. It hung there an inch off the marble as if held aloft by some fey hand. Two stuffed chairs were set against the far wall, coated in thick dust. Loki thought it unlikely that anyone had ever sat upon them to contemplate the hammer, which was the only object of note in the room. His eye moved to the curved walls, where illuminated scenes were painted in the trademark Asgardian golds and reds. The murals depicted various battles with fallen Jotun painted in slashes of blue. Would Loki recognize the heritage marks of a brother or an uncle if he looked a little closer? He shivered at the thought.

"What is this place?" he asked Thor.

"A prison cell," Thor said. He circled the pedestal, gesturing to the hammer. "Mjolnir. I wielded it when I still commanded the skies. Before me, it belonged to Hela, but when I came of age the hammer chose me."

"I can't imagine your sister liked that," Loki drawled.

"Indeed not." Thor stopped his pacing and regarded Loki over the glow that seemed to encase the warhammer. "When my father locked away my power, Mjolnir too was locked away. Until I proved my worth, he said." Thor shoved a hand through his hair to push it off his brow. "I don't think I ever will. Not after what I've done."

"You have reformed since your younger days," Loki pointed out. "You're no longer ruled by constant anger, and you've acknowledged your people's worst deeds. Surely that counts for something?"

Thor opened his mouth, then closed it, his eyes falling shut. "Mother, I cannot do this," he said. "Please, there must be some other way."

Loki looked to Frigga, who stood against the shut door. Her face was shuttered like an abandoned home.

"I ask you one last time," she said. "Stop while you still can."

But Loki was propelled by the irrevocable drive of his curiosity, his self-doubt, his budding feelings for his strange husband. He could not stop, not when he was so close to knowing what he wished to know.

He turned to Thor. "She says you must. That it's all right. Go ahead."

A shaky breath rattled through Thor's chest. "The curse my father laid upon me," he said, "was an old one. It stripped me of my power completely, and only one thing can undo it."

"Yes?" Loki leaned forward, eyes bright with eagerness.

Thor hung his head. "Love," he whispered. "Only a pure, true love freely given would save me."

Something in Loki froze at the words. Time seemed to slow as his mind worked to understand. Love? That was it? But— No.

No.

No, he couldn't mean—

"So I endeavored to find such a love," Thor continued, the words spilling out of him now like from a dam set asunder. "I went to many beds and traveled to every corner of Asgard, looking for it. I was younger then. Brash. Stupid. I thought it would be a simple matter, to find someone who would fulfill all the requirements. Yet I never did.

"And then came the peace accord, and Hela convinced my father to arrange my marriage to you. I know her mind, and I'm sure she thought if I was bound to the Crown Prince of Jotunheim, my lifelong enemy, I would have no chance of ever breaking this spell. But with Heimdall's help, I came up with another idea: to make the Royal Consort fall in love with me."

Thor did not raise his eyes, but if he had he would have seen Loki drained of color, his face a pale robin's egg.

Thor continued. "In order to do this, we agreed that I would have to make myself amenable as a potential ally by creating a sort of secret pact. The two of us would need to pretend at being what my father and sister expected us to be, and along the way I was to endear myself with little gestures and kindnesses." He struggled to speak his next words. "But I put a stop to it. I had to."

"You had to?" Loki's voice broke. Thor's head whipped up at the sound. Loki stood there in the searchlight of his gaze, tears dripping from his face. "Why? Was it such a strain on you, being _kind_ to me?"

"No, it—" Thor's throat worked. "It doesn't matter why." His eyes brightened a little. Hope rushing in. "Especially now that my mother can explain her solution, and all will be well. Ask her what we are to do."

Loki stood completely still save for his flaring nostrils. He spoke not a word.

"What does she say?" Thor's face fell by slow degrees as realization dawned. "Oh, no. No," he whispered. Thor's eyes widened in horror. "Loki—" He took a step around the pedestal, but Loki backed away.

"Keep my name out of your mouth!" he cried. "What did you and Heimdall say while you were conspiring? Did you laugh? The friendless little Frost Giant who'd never been touched—what an easy target I made!"

"It wasn't like that," Thor insisted.

"Then what was it like?" Loki shook in his rage, hands curled into claws at his sides. He thought of the picnic, the rain, the gifts he'd thought he'd received out of Thor's generosity. Gods, they'd lain together, slept beside each other. The things he'd let Thor do to him— The tears flowed unabated. "How could you have been so monstrous? So heartless?" When Thor did not answer, Loki could only scream, "Tell me!"

Frigga strode forward in her ghostly pallor, hands raised to in an effort to calm. "He did not mean to cause you pain. It wasn't anyone's fault. Listen—"

"Don't you dare defend him," Loki snarled, and clamped his hands into fists. Despite the gold bands holding his magics at bay, a wave of power flowed from him, slamming through the room. Thor staggered back a step; the two stuffed chairs were tossed on their sides; hairline cracks appeared in the walls, the murals flaking away in pieces; and the image of Queen Frigga was sent away, her form dissipating like morning mist. Only Mjolnir was unmoved on its pedestal.

Thor regained his footing and tried once more to make his way to Loki. "Crown Prince, please. I'm sorry, I knew it was wrong. That's why I put an end to it."

"But you didn't," Loki sobbed. He walked swiftly backwards, the two of them going round and round in circles. "You took me into your bed; you baited me with sweetness and coldness in turn until I was so confused—" He'd been so close to falling for the vicious ploy. He'd actually thought he might feel something for this wicked brute. Stupid, stupid little runt.

"That wasn't my intent!" Thor pursued him, arms outstretched. "I just—I didn't know what else to do. I know I acted foolishly."

"You did." Loki stopped with his back to the door, pointing at Thor in a way that froze him where he stood on the other side of the pedestal. "You have been the biggest fool," Loki said, "this world has ever seen. You actually thought that you could trick me. That your plan might work." His heart hardened. A protective shell forged in the fire of Loki's rage. His words seethed from his mouth. "As if I could ever love a beast like you."

Thor sagged against the far wall. His horrible blue eyes fell to the floor. "I know," he said. Broken and soft. "I know."

Loki might have swept out of the room then to get as far away from his false husband as possible—or he might have stood there for another hour, letting his tears fall and his words cut Thor to ribbons. But it was not to be.

The door was flung open and Heimdall stood outlined in the torchlight from the hall, his face a mask of worry. "My Prince," he said, "I heard raised voices. You're needed. The both of you. Right now."

"Leave us, Heimdall," Thor managed to say, his voice a ruin. He scrubbed at his face with his hand. "This is a poor time."

"My Prince, I'm afraid I must insist." He took a deep breath and said, "The King of Jotunheim has arrived."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!
> 
> Getting there. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the continued support!
> 
> Now look at this [amazing fanart from wisterings](https://wisterings.tumblr.com/post/179028706068/fanart-for-the-latest-chapter-of-trieduntures-the)


	14. Chapter 14

Loki walked out of Odin's private wing, but he could not tell you how he managed it. His limbs felt numb, his arms leaden weights at his sides, his feet not feeling the flagstones that they trod upon. It was as if he was not contained within his body at all and was instead watching the proceedings from a distance like an audience member taking in some tragic play. He no longer wanted to observe this sad story, let alone be a player in it. 

Thor was...somewhere. At his side, perhaps. Yes, there he was, looming on Loki's left, his false spring eyes—false as the rest of him—heavy on Loki's face. 

"Crown Prince," he said, "do you know why Laufey has come? Did you—did you summon him?"

The notion was so ridiculous, Loki nearly did not respond. Yet an answer fell from his unfeeling lips.

"Why would I call my sire here, to the place where he abandoned me? I have no business with him." He turned a corner, following Heimdall without fail. 

A coldness settled in the places numbed by useless anger. Frost crept into Loki's chest and crystalized over his heart. Thor's kindness had all been for show, a ploy to earn Loki's affection. Nothing was real. Nothing mattered. He was totally alone in the world, without a friend, without an ally. There was nothing to be had. And so, blissfully, there was nothing to be lost. 

A freezing comfort enfolded Loki like a cloak of sorrow. A fitting thing to wear with his old mask, though he did not realize that the mask had been cracked along with his heart. Instead of hiding every emotion, flickers of his pain shone in his eyes, in the line of his mouth, in the way he brushed his long-grown hair from his eyes with a shaky hand. 

He did not see, but Thor did.

"Are you all right?" Thor whispered as they walked.

This time, Loki succeeded in ignoring him. The foolishness of these questions knew no bounds. 

Thor tried again. "I'm sorry, I—" 

"We're almost to the receiving room," Heimdall interrupted, turning to them. "I must leave you here." He hesitated. "Be careful, my Prince." 

Loki did not hear Thor's murmured reply. He just kept walking forward, not waiting for an escort as the royal guard opened the massive door for him. 

The receiving room at Asgard was not so sprawling as the Great Hall, but it was surely built to impress. High vaulted ceilings, thick drapes of purple velvet, tapestries and statuary of exquisite make—all this finery was marred by the presence of the two figures already seated at the low table: Hela and Laufey. Their heads turned at Loki's entrance, and their faces sported twin looks of chilly distaste. 

"Loki," rumbled the King of the Frost Giants. He did not rise from his inelegant sprawl on his stack of floor pillows (there being no chair on hand large enough to hold his great bulk). "You're looking well. Apparently they're feeding you here in Asgard." Laufey's dark red eyes swung back to Hela as if accusing her of spoiling his child with such a luxury as food. 

"Hello, sire." Loki took his seat at the table. He stared straight ahead at the wall, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, least of all Thor's. The brute chose the chair at Loki's side, sitting close enough to make Loki flinch. He thought no one would notice it, but alas, Thor did.

There were others, too, in the room. The royal guard of the palace lined one wall, resplendent in their horned helms. Behind Laufey stood the Jotun contingent with their fur cloaks and simple, rough tunics. Loki recognized a few of his brothers among their number, but they made no move to greet him in word or gesture, and so he ignored them in turn. 

Hela spoke at last. "Surely this day will be set down in both our histories. Aesir and Jotun, sitting at the same table. What wondrous times we find ourselves in." Her sleek dark head turned toward Laufey by degrees. 

"I don't care to talk of histories," said Laufey. "Where is Odin? Does he not deign to meet his invited guest?" He produced a scroll of Aesir parchment and tossed it upon the table. The cracked seal of the royal house of Asgard was set upon it in red wax, flaking as the thing rolled.

Thor looked to Loki with confusion writ across his brutish features, but Loki took pains to remain impassive in the face of this information. The Allfather could not have sent such a missive while deep in his Odinsleep. It was obvious to Loki that someone else had done so, but for what purpose, he couldn't imagine. 

"My father—" Thor began, turning to Laufey.

"The King is unfortunately indisposed at the moment," Hela interrupted. "He was called away to deal with an urgent matter and sends us in his stead with his deepest regrets. He was so looking forward to meeting with you."

Thor looked as if he would protest this lie, but Loki silenced him with a glare. The air was too fraught to share the truth just yet.

A snort erupted from Laufey. He fingered the points of his crown of wood and bone. "I doubt that, but no matter. If Odin wishes his children to speak for him in our negotiations, so be it."

"He has of course explained to me the few matters that shall be discussed," Hela said smoothly. "You have been told the joyous news, I gather?"

Loki lifted his head. Dread seeped into his blood, as cold as it was, and froze it even further. From his place at the foot of the table, his sire was staring at him with hard ruby eyes.

"I have," Laufey intoned. "So it is true, Loki? You carry this Aesir's child?" His huge head tipped in Thor's direction.

"Yes." The lie sounded as if it came from someone else's lips, someone far away. "Do you come to congratulate me, sire?"

"Congratulate you?" Laufey's face wrinkled in disgust. "What have you done that bears congratulations? Any common whore can lie there and be filled with seed. Now if you had fought—" 

Thor stood so quickly, he knocked his chair to the floor. "You are a guest in this house, Laufey," he growled, "but that does not give you the right to speak to the Crown Prince like that!" 

Laufey waved a hand. "I'll speak to my child however I please." 

"Sit down, Odinson," Loki murmured, unmoving and unmoved. "You're making an ass of yourself. Besides—" He lowered his voice a touch, turning toward Thor. "Your game is over. No need to keep up pretenses, hm?"

"But—" Thor clamped his mouth shut and, with what dignity remained, righted his chair and did as Loki bid. 

Loki turned his attention once more to his sire Laufey. "You were saying? If I had fought like a warrior, I might have come closer to your ideal, is that it?" 

"Well, no one would ever expect you to  _ attain _ warrior status, Loki. But with these Aesir, you are almost evenly matched. I must say I'm disappointed that you didn't present more of a challenge." 

"And yet when last we spoke, sire—you remember; they were dragging me away from the only home I'd ever known?—you instructed me not to struggle. To be pleased that I was finally serving some purpose for Jotunheim." Loki's mask of ice was falling to pieces, his voice heated, his eyes flashing. "Now you say I should have done the opposite."

Loki could feel something rolling off Thor in waves—anger, perhaps? Loki did not waste concern on him. When he felt Thor's hand brush his under the cover of the table, he jerked away from the touch without a second thought. 

"I'm saying I thought you would struggle despite my orders. It's a shame that, for once, you followed them to the letter," Laufey grumbled. "It's made everything much more complicated for me."

Loki's aching heart stuck in his throat. He saw now the meaning between the words his sire spoke. Laufey had expected him to fight; he had expected Loki's Aesir husband to be as brutal and unforgiving as all Aesir were. He'd expected Loki to be killed in the land of their enemy.

Loki was supposed to be dead. And the fact that he still breathed, and indeed, was ostensibly pregnant with the Prince's child, meant that the line of succession for the Jotun throne was now in absolute disarray. Laufey was here to set it right.

And the only reason he'd known to come was because Hela had seen fit to write to him under the guise of the Allfather. Loki looked sharply at the head of the table, where Hela sat seemingly unconcerned with the proceedings, examining her nails and keeping her peace. She could have killed me at any point, Loki thought, but she hadn't. He'd been kept alive to act as a lure. This was all a trap. 

Laufey was still talking, too wrapped up in his own problems to see the sword hanging over their heads. "You will need to renounce your birthright, of course," he said. "The child in your belly will be of Odin's house, and you will naturally remain here as well. It would be more fitting to have you step aside so that your brother Lgullwah can take your place as Crown Prince."

Loki looked to Lgullwah, standing with the Jotun contingent. His brother's shaved head was unfortunately lumpy; his long face and dull eyes were ill-suited to regal airs. At the moment a smug smile curled his lips. This was to be the heir to the icy throne?

Fools. There wouldn't  _ be _ a throne, not if Hela had her way. 

"Sire, let us discuss the matter privately," Loki said. He hoped his glances at Hela's seat were clue enough for Laufey. If he could speak freely for just a moment.... "I would be pleased to go over all the small details with you." 

Laufey sniffed. "There is nothing to discuss. You will not even need to write the declaration; it's all been done for you. You need only affix your sign."

"Please, sire," Loki spoke through gritted teeth, "we should go over the terms together. In private." 

"Yes," said Hela, gesturing to the guards and guests that lined the walls, "leave us for a moment, all of you. There are some things that should be saved for royal ears alone. A moment, and I will call you when we are through."

The royal guard marched out the door at her orders. The Jotun band waited for a slow nod from Laufey before following suit. Loki watched them leave with a sinking heart. No, he wanted to shout, this is how it ends! 

The door shut with a heavy thud. Loki licked his lips and tried once more to make his sire understand their dangerous position.

"If you would only listen—"

"Would you stop wagging that little tongue of yours?" Laufey bellowed. "You embarrass me in front of my council and your family. Why must you always be so difficult, Loki?" His hard red eyes bored into his firstborn. "I don't understand why I've been cursed with you."

"Loki is a blessing, not a curse!" Thor roared and stood again. "You only embarrass yourself by not realizing it, Laufey-King!" 

Loki sighed and put a hand to his head at the display. "Thor, this is not the time for theatrics." 

Hela's voice rang clear through the room. "Yes, tempers are running high." She stood and made a slow circuit of the table, her hands clasped behind her back. "If I may suggest a glass of wine? A mug of ale? Something to calm ourselves before we speak of such delicate matters."

"I do not need a drink! I need only to dispense with this useless heir of mine," Laufey spat. "Then we can move onto the matter of your troops withdrawing from the southern plains."

Loki rose to his feet as Hela moved behind his sire, who was still seated on the floor, his head turned slightly as he spoke to her. He still did not see. How could he not see? 

"I think we can simplify things even further, actually," Hela said. 

Thor, hearing the intent in his sister's voice, stepped forward, his arm outstretched. "Hela, don't—!" 

"No!" Loki cried. 

All too late. 

A blade as sharp and cruel as the Mad General's smile burst forth through Laufey's chest. Blood spattered Loki's cheek as he stood helpless. He watched as his sire stared down at the weapon that pierced him, then raised his blank red eyes to meet Loki's gaze. His mouth opened, but nothing came out save a trickle of blood. 

The giant fell upon the table, dead. 

Hela sighed as she removed her conjured weapon from Laufey's twitching body, its mystical edge catching on ribs and spine as it slid free and disappeared. "I could've gone for a glass of wine myself," she said.

Loki gave a small sob as he moved toward his sire. The light was gone from his eyes, but surely Loki should do something? Try to staunch the wound? For all the hatred and sorrow Laufey had brought into Loki's life, he was still his sire. Maybe he could save him, maybe he could— 

But Thor held him back, his hand tight on Loki's arm. "Hela, what have you done?" he cried. 

She looked up as if only just remembering they were still in the room with her and the corpse. "Saved myself a lot of trouble, I expect. Now where was I? Oh yes." She left the body where it was and strode over to the door. 

Loki struggled in Thor's grip, his eyes not leaving his sire. "He needs me. I have to go to him, I have to—"

"I'm sorry. He's gone." Thor tugged him over to the far corner. "We have to get out of here."

Hela pushed the twin panels of the door open with a flourish. Loki gasped at the sight just outside in the corridor: piles of blue flesh, his fellow Jotun, his brothers, hacked to pieces, and the royal guard standing over them with swords dripping. 

"My brother and his consort have assassinated the Jotun King," Hela announced to her compatriots. "Kill them for me, would you? Or rather,  _ subdue them _ if they resist. I have other things to worry about." And with a scant smile over her shoulder at them, she stepped over the fallen Jotun and left. 

Loki despaired as the royal guard charged into the room. They were outnumbered and unarmed; it was all hopeless. He would die like a trapped animal. No one would mourn. He stood frozen on the spot and would have remained there had Thor not pulled him through a secret door hidden behind a tapestry. 

"What—?" Loki gasped as the door slammed behind them. They found themselves now in a dark passage, the only light from a torch carried by Heimdall, who was waiting for them.

"Take this," Heimdall said, pressing the torch into Loki's hands. "I will bar the door." 

As the Prince's man did just that, Loki whipped around to see Thor shrugging into battle armor. There was a pile of it at their feet; Heimdall had known to bring it. 

"What is this?" Loki demanded. "Did you know this would happen?" 

"I knew my sister would make her move at some point," Thor said as he strapped on his chest plate, "but I had no idea it would be today, or that she meant to murder Laufey. I am sorry, Crown Prince. I couldn't stop it." 

The royal guard were pounding on the door, splinters cracking. Loki could hear their rough shouts through the oak. 

"That won't hold forever," he said.

"We must go." Heimdall led them deeper into the bowels of the palace. Servants' passages, Loki realized. They were in the hidden network of tunnels that the servants must use to move silently and unseen. 

Thor belted a short sword at his waist as they went. "What of our men, Heimdall?" he asked. "Are they prepared to make a stand? Hela has the royal guard on her side, but if we can raise a battalion—" 

"My Prince, there are many warriors loyal to our cause, but they are waiting for some sign that your powers are returned. Some may still stand with you, but there are many more who think it suicide to face the General without their own god."

Loki's mind raced. So this whole time Thor had been moving his pieces? But without his lightning, it was all for naught. 

Thor let out a soft curse. "We must go to my father, then. Our only hope is to wake him; he can restore my strength." 

Heimdall's face was limed in torchlight as he faced Loki with his sightless eyes. "Perhaps the Crown Prince—?"

"No," Thor said. The word was raw in his throat, and Loki blinked at hearing it. "There's no time to argue. Take us to my father's bedside."

After many twists and turns in the dark, they arrived at another door, and this opened into the Allfather's private wing. Loki's eyes squinted in the sudden light of day, but he had no time to adjust. Thor and Heimdall hurried him along to Odin's chamber. 

"Oh Gods," Thor breathed as he pushed open the door. 

There were bodies on the floor: the few royal guard who remained loyal to the Allfather, Loki suspected. Their golden helms lay on the flagstones next to their bloody remains. And in the ship of a bed rested one final corpse. Odin was pale in death, his throat a horrible red gash. His single eye was open and fixed on the ceiling. Had he seen his killer, Loki wondered. Had Hela drawn the blade across his throat herself, or had she arranged for one of her men to carry out the horrible deed?

"Father." Thor collapsed to his knees beside Odin's bed. His hands reached for the dead man's cold, white ones. "Father, I'm sorry," he sobbed. 

The sight was enough to crack away a layer of ice around Loki's heart. He chided himself for this weakness; his enemies did not need his sympathy. He had no chance to think on it. There was a commotion out in the hall. Loki heard distant screams, the clang of metal on metal, shouts of confusion. It was not safe to remain here. 

"Thor, we must leave." He laid a hand on one armored shoulder, which shook under his touch. Loki understood intimately the pain of this loss, having so recently experienced it himself, but the instinct to survive overcame him. If he had to be the one to act with a level head, he would take his turn. No time to mourn, not for either of them. "There's nothing to be done for him now. We have to go."

"What now, my Prince?" Heimdall asked. 

Oh, they were certainly in trouble if Heimdall was out of ideas. Loki pulled Thor to his feet and met his gaze, pleading with him silently for an answer. 

Thor let his tears fall as he shared a look with Loki. Grief gave way to resolve. A small softening in his blue eyes. 

"Now we go to the stables, Loki and I. Heimdall," he said, looking to his man, "muster whomever you can. I will meet you in the Great Hall. We will make our stand there." 

Heimdall gave a nod. "Good luck, my Prince." He left them swiftly. 

"I don't understand. Why must we go to the stables before going to the Great Hall?" Loki asked. 

"I'll explain when we get there," Thor said. The sounds of chaos were getting louder. "Come, we have little time."

By unspoken agreement their hands sought each other out and joined together as they ran. Loki did not object; the danger of getting separated was too great otherwise. Everywhere they turned was death and destruction. Many times they were forced to leap over a dead man on the floor, or dodge a fire that raged along the palace walls, eating the wall hangings and drapes as it grew. Streams of people ran in all directions, screaming in terror that the royal guard had gone mad. Thor shouted at them to leave the palace, to head for the forest, and most seemed to listen to his orders. The ones that continued running wildly to their doom, Loki did not dwell upon.

At last they burst into the courtyard where the stables were positioned. Shouts and cries echoed from all sides, frightening the horses. They battered at their stall doors with their hooves and whinied in a way that hurt Loki's ears. Thor ignored all these steeds, moving quickly instead to where Stormbreaker was kept. The dappled warhorse stood still and ready, so used to the sounds of battle was he.

"No time for the saddle," Thor muttered as he let Stormbreaker out of his stall. "You'll have to ride bareback."

"What, me?" Loki balked. "You're not going to ride him?"

"No," Thor said. He took hold of Loki and all but tossed him onto the horse's back. "Jotunheim needs you; you're its rightful King now. You must find your way back to your homeland." 

Loki grabbed handfuls of Stormbreaker's grey mane in an effort to stay in place, heart pounding as the horse kicked. "But you're the only one who can control this creature!" Loki protested. "Why must I—?"

"You don't have to control him. Just hold on. He is fast and strong; he will get you to safety." Thor held the horse's head in his hands and pressed his forehead between those two liquid black eyes. Stormbreaker calmed at his touch, huffing quietly. "Please take care of him," Thor whispered. "Please."

"What about you?" Loki said. "Aren't you coming?"

Thor released the horse and stepped back, shaking his head. "I must stay and face Hela." 

"But you heard Heimdall! You won't have enough men, not without your powers. She plans to burn everything in her path. You won't stand a chance!"

"No," Thor conceded, "but I can at least slow her down." He unsheathed his sword, his other hand rising to hold Loki's. "Asgard will fall, I know this. But it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters now is keeping you safe."

"Why?" Loki stared down at that strange Aesir face, set in determination, eyes awash with something unnameable. "Why do you care about what happens to me, Odinson?"

"Because I—" Thor stopped. Looked away and swallowed. His hand squeezed Loki's. "I never intended to tell you this. I did not want to burden you with things you didn't wish to hear. Yet now, at the end of everything, I want you to know it, and hope it gives you some measure of understanding." He raised his eyes, a true spring blue, and said, "I love you, Crown Prince. You are more precious to me than anything else in any realm. If I am to die, I will die well knowing you still live." He brought their joined hands to his lips and brushed a kiss to Loki's knuckles. "Forgive me. I could not help myself."

"Thor…." Loki choked out. What was this he was hearing? Was this real? Did they both—?

Their hands parted. Thor's face was wet with tears. "Now go," he said. 

Loki could not think. He could not move. His tongue was thick in his dry mouth. "Wait—" 

With the flat of his sword, Thor struck Stormbreaker on his haunch. "Go!" he commanded, and the horse ran at a gallop out of the stables, through the courtyard, and out of the palace gate. 

Loki clung to the creature's mane, his face pressed into hot horseflesh as the world raced past. 

"Wait!" he called out, but his voice was carried away by the wind and was lost. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!!!
> 
> Several people have asked how much longer this is planned to go on. Two more chapters after this, I think! Then we're done :')


	15. Chapter 15

The horse bore Loki away at a furious pace out of the palace grounds and into the town beyond. Loki could see little—he could barely lift his head, so fiercely was he clutching the horse's neck—but he heard the screams, the sounds of fighting. The battle had spilled out into the surrounding village, and nothing was safe.

Yet Loki's thoughts were not on the creature of pure muscle that he rode, nor his bruises that would surely form after the rough ride, nor even the dozens of Asgardians running for their lives before Stormbreaker's pounding hooves.

Loki thought only of Thor and his impossible farewell.

The beast...loved him? Since when? And how? It made no sense to Loki, who had grappled so terribly with his own traitorous heart, that he had missed such struggles in the object of his affections. Is that why the brute had put a stop to his wretched plans—to spare Loki the pain of being used? The decision would cost Thor his kingdom. His very life.

The memories of the nights they'd spent together swirled through Loki's mind. Every look of those blue eyes, each touch of those rough hands, all the words Thor had said, every gift he'd given, even after he'd told Heimdall their plan was finished—

Loki was seized by a steadfast certainty. He needed to go to Thor. Before it was too late.

"Stop!" Loki cried, tugging at the horse's mane. "Take me back!"

The horse, of course, did not listen to his commands. Together they hurtled down the crowded lanes of the town, scattering victimized villagers and gold-cloaked guardsmen alike. The air left Loki's lungs as Stormbreaker leapt over an overturned cart and came crashing down on the other side, still in a dead run.

Loki discarded the idea of jumping almost as soon as it came to him. He did not relish the idea of his head splitting open on the ground like a melon. He clung desperately at the horse.

"Please," he whispered, and hoped the animal would understand. "Your master's life is at stake. I have to go back!"

Perhaps the warhorse heard him. Perhaps it was the wall of fire that appeared in the road ahead. The latter seems more likely.

At any rate, Stormbreaker halted in his tracks and reared up with a loud bray. Loki gasped as he slipped and tumbled to the ground. He lay there, panting from his exertions while the horse, unperturbed, flicked its tail and sauntered away into the churning crowd of bodies.

Loki picked himself up before he was trampled by the crush of people. He wiped a streak of mud from his cheek and stared when his fingers came away red as well as black. He hadn't even had time to wash his sire's blood away. He suppressed a shudder; he needed to concentrate on the present if he wanted to survive.

Now that he was on foot, the horror of the scene was more apparent: men staggering by clutching their bloody heads, women hugging their babes to their chests while trying to run in their flowing skirts, little children crying out for help. The royal guard moved like reapers through the chaos, striking anything that moved. The sheer magnitude of misery reminded Loki of war-torn Jotunheim. How could Hela do this to her own people?

His eyes alighted on a swinging wooden sign bearing the black shape of an anvil with a crude hammer above it. A blacksmith. Loki touched the gold band that encircled one wrist, then pushed his way through the sea of bodies and into the cool darkness of the smith's workshop. His heart sank as he found it empty—even the smith's tools were missing from their barrels. The terrified masses must have raided the place for weapons to defend themselves, Loki realized.

"You there, stop!" a voice rang out behind him.

Loki turned, his heart in his mouth, to find a man as large as a mountain blocking the way to the door. A deadly looking mace was gripped in his meaty hand.

"Are you on the side of the General?" he demanded.

Loki cocked his head to the side. He knew that voice. "Volstagg?" He squinted. "Is that you?"

His husband's huge companion stepped out of the shadows, blinking as he recognized Loki in turn. "The Royal Consort! But what are you doing here?"

Loki raised his arms and rattled the golden bangles on his wrists. "Trying to find a way to free myself. And you? Is Thor with you?"

Volstagg shook his shaggy head. "I have not found him. I saw my companions Fandral and Hogun struck down in cold blood. They took us by surprise while we were sparring, Hela's men did. Lady Sif was lost in the confusion; I do not know if she lives or not. I was looking for her but—" He lifted his red eyes to the low ceiling. "My friends, my home— How could this happen?"

Loki rushed forward. "We have no time for tears. Your Prince needs our help, and I need the blacksmith. Where is he?"

A bitter laugh fell from Volstagg's mouth. "You won't find a smith, not now! Everyone who can is running for the mountains."

"Then—" Loki looked about wildly until his eyes fell upon the mace Volstagg carried in his great paw. He regarded his left hand, the one he favored, the one Thor had kissed. A thought came to his mind. He looked over to the great anvil that sat by the cold forge, took the few steps he needed to come abreast of it. He laid his left arm across its black expanse and nodded to the band on his wrist. "You will have to break this for me," he said.

"Are you mad!" Volstagg cried. "I will crush your hand if I try to do that."

"True." Loki swallowed. "But if I free just one hand from these bonds, I might be able to use my magics." His eyes darted along the ground as he convinced himself of the necessity. Freeing his favored hand would yield more power, and he needed enough to open a gateway. He'd managed to exert himself in some fashion back in Mjolnir's cell, hadn't he? One hand could do the job. And then— "I can raise an army to fight alongside Thor."

"An army? What are you talking about?"

He cast a sharp look at Volstagg. "While we stand here dithering, Hela is slaughtering your people! Now please do me the kindness of breaking my fucking arm!"

Volstagg hesitated, then hefted his mace in his hands with a wary look. "You're sure?"

"Do it!" The command came as natural as breath.

"Thor is going to have my hide for this," Volstagg muttered. He lifted the weapon high above his head and brought it down with brutal force. The sound it produced was a horror—metal on flesh, bones snapping under the great weight, the screech of gold being crushed.

Loki screamed in pain, and then screamed again at the sight of his mangled hand. The golden band at his broken wrist was twisted, but still intact.

He nearly fainted, but braced himself against the anvil. "Again."

Volstagg's face was pinched in worry. "Little giant, I don't think—"

"Again!" Loki demanded.

Volstagg struck again. This time the band broke, falling in pieces to the dusty floor. Loki cried out, a prolonged moan of agony; the pain was a living thing, growing and twisting in him. Yet his magic also burned bright, a powerful flare that mattered above all else. It would be enough. More than enough.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry." Volstagg grabbed him by the shoulders before he could slump to the ground. "Are you going to pass out?"

Loki's vision swam as he fought to stay conscious. He couldn't slip into the dark, not yet. Thor needed him.

"I'm fine," he struggled to say. He cradled his bloody mess of an arm against his heaving chest. "Never felt better, in fact." Sweat fell into his eyes, and he blinked it away. "We need to go back to the palace. Can you get me into the gardens without attracting too much attention?"

Volstagg nodded. "I know a way. Come, hold onto me. You're bleeding an awful lot." Much of the blood got on his own tunic as he helped Loki walk.

Outside the smithy, the world had changed. Where all had been screeching panic minutes before, now it was eerily silent. Fires spread unchecked from roof to thatched roof. A single stray lamb bleated across the muddy lane and disappeared into a shadow. Besides that, nothing moved. They struggled together through the mud for what seemed like an endless amount of time.

"Nearly there," Volstagg said as he half-carried Loki in the direction of the shining wall that surrounded the palace. "When Thor and I were youths, we used this secret way to sneak into town and drink our weight in mead."

"Charming," Loki said through gritted teeth. His entire arm felt pierced with glass, a sharp, clear pain that did not abate, only grew.

Thick brush grew at the base of the palace wall, a wild thing lush with thorns. Volstagg held this aside to reveal a break in the stone bricks. The crevice was just large enough for the hefty Volstagg to wedge through. Loki, stifling a whimper of pain, followed.

"Which way to the pond? The one beside the bent tree?" he asked.

Volstagg picked a leaf from his knotted red hair. "This way."

They crept through the hedge maze with care. Though the garden seemed untouched by violence, the distant sounds of battle could still be heard echoing from the palace. There was no telling where Hela's loyal soldiers might be lurking. Loki held his broken arm gently and hoped he wasn't leaving too obvious a trail of blood. His seidr pulsed with the desire to heal the appendage, but Loki did not dare. He wanted every drop of power available to him for the task at hand.

Volstagg turned a corner in the maze and gave a cry of surprise. Loki, peeking around his great bulk, saw three little Aesir boys, their faces smudged with grime and streaked with tears, huddling in the dirt. He recognized them—they were the same children he had watched in the courtyard so long ago, riding their ponies while Thor instructed them.

And he recognized their protector, the girl with the raised sword that moved to stand between the children and Volstagg.

"Bil!" he said. He nudged the warrior aside. "Are you all right?"  

Bil's eyes went wide with relief. "Sir! I'm sorry, I didn't know if you were the General's men or not. They're killing everyone who won't pledge to her! Then others are saying the Prince has killed the King, or maybe two Kings, I'm not certain. It was chaos, people running and screaming and fighting, so I hid the little ones here." Her gaze fell to his injured arm. "Oh sir, what's happened to you?"

"Nevermind me," Loki said. His chest ached; children, even Aesir ones, had no place in battle. He turned to Volstagg. "Take them through the wall and see them to safety."

"What about you?" he asked.

"I'll be all right," Loki lied. He beckoned the boys forward into the haven of Volstagg's arms. "Head to the mountains. They won't find you there. You too, Bil."

"Sir, you can't go on alone, not in your condition." She stared meaningfully at his belly.

Volstagg blanched under his red beard. "Gods, I'd forgotten! How could you ask me to smash you up when you're carrying the Prince's heir?"

"I'm not—!" Loki bit his lip as a fresh wave of agony burst from his arm. "I was never with child. That was a lie. It would take too long to explain. Just go, get yourself and the children as far from here as you can. Don't worry about me."

"But sir—" Bil hesitated, then flipped her grip on her sword's hilt with surprising grace, offering it to Loki. "Take this at least, sir. You still have one good hand, it looks like."

Loki held up said hand. "You should keep it. You might need it."

"You might need it more," she insisted. "It's practically yours anyway; I bought it with your silver."

"You did?"

"Yes, sir. The Prince told me to. We armed every maid in the palace, sir. He didn't want us to be defenseless if—when the General made her strike."

Loki blinked. So Thor had been worrying for the servants' wellbeing; they hadn't even had time to discuss it. "Well, I suppose if it's practically mine." He took the shortsword from Bil and weighed it in his right hand. Not his preferred way to use a blade, but better than nothing. "Now go, all of you. Get as far away from here as you can."

Volstagg gave him a grave nod as he gathered the little children in his huge arms. "You'll find the tree Yggdrasil at the end of this lane. Good luck."

Bil looked as if she might do something foolish like give Loki a hug, but she managed to hold herself back.

"Take care, sir," she said instead.

The Asgardians slipped away, leaving him alone.

Loki made his way down the lane as Volstagg had directed. Seidr and blood dripped from his fingertips as he walked. Nearly there. Just a few more yards. He had to do this; Thor was waiting.

He found the spot beside the pond where he'd cast his conjuration—had it only been last night? So much had changed since then. The air was heavy with the heat of war; even the weather seemed to know it. The last vestiges of frost had melted away with the dawn, and the ice that had floated on the pond was but a memory. Above, grey clouds grew in imposing battlements.

Rain. Loki smelled it on the air.

He prayed it was a sign, a good one.

He lifted his bloodied arm and concentrated on the world between worlds, the shadow place with its shambling prisoners. He thought of the Queen, the beloved mother who would defend her golden son. Loki held the image of her in his mind.

A door opened.

A portal of swirling light and color formed above the pond. Water sucked upward to form its circular rim. It began to rain, a light mist that danced along the air, cold and bracing. Loki shivered. He was drenched in hot sweat. His magic, what little of it he could produce with most of his bonds intact, poured out of him like a river through a too-small hole in a dam. It would tear him apart if he kept it up.

Loki kept it up. He screamed as the portal widened and deepened. It reached across the veil and into another plane. And through it, at last, stepped the lost Queen, clad in her hunter's brace, her orange gown billowing in the sudden wind. Not a shade, not an apparition—the Queen in the flesh.

"I thought you had given up on us," Frigga called over the roar of magic.

Loki held his shaking hand aloft. Only his strength of will held the door open. "I had," he panted, "but as I've said before, I'm a fool many times over."

The Queen accepted this with a nod and turned her head. "My warriors! To me!"

Through the doorway came the Aesir shield maidens, the Valkyries of legend, riding on horseback, each mount the color of fresh snow. Their knotted hair was long and gleaming, their many weapons shining in their hands. The damp air collected and dripped from their winged helms. A dozen, two, then three, a hundred—they came and kept coming, their voices raised in a single, sonorous note.

The Valkyrie with the long dark hair, the one who had nearly slit Loki's throat before, halted her horse beside him. Her black eyes stared down.

"You again," she said. "What are you called?"

Loki tipped his chin back to address her. "I am Loki the Sm—"

"This is Loki the Strong!" the Queen called to her assembled army. "Who but the strongest mage could release us? We are in your debt, Crown Prince of Jotunheim!"

The Valkyries raised their swords and spears in the air, a collective _Hah!_ of assent.

Loki marveled at them all. Frigga tipped her head at the doorway between worlds, and he understood that his task was done. His shaking arm fell, and the portal closed into a pinprick of light, then winked out of existence.

"My lady, much has happened in the past...hour," he said, cradling his now-useless arm. "Hela is on a rampage through the palace. She has murdered both my sire and your husband. I think she means to take both kingdoms for herself."

Frigga's white face paled further. "The King is dead?"

Word spread through the ranks of the Valkyries. Howls tore through the air as the mounted warriors mourned.

"And my son?" the Queen demanded. The host quieted around her. "What of Thor?"

Loki shook his head. "He fights without his powers against his sister's forces, knowing that it is hopeless. We must save him." He stared at the imposing Frigga, the words stuck in his throat. "Please, I—I have to save him."

The Queen stood motionless for a moment, then unsheathed the sword that hung at her hip. "Valkyries!" she shouted. "A hundred years I have languished in our prison! A hundred years and a thousand more you've been locked away until you fell from memory! The Mad General has stolen our time from us, has stolen the lives of our beloveds—and now she thinks to steal Asgard herself! Who will stop her?"

Once more a cry was taken up by the Valkyries, a swelling sound that rippled louder and louder into the grey air. They were singing, Loki realized. A song of rage, of victory.

"To war!" Frigga took the reins of a riderless horse and swung herself into its silver saddle, sword held high. "To glory!"

"Loki the Strong," called the dark-haired Valkyrie, "can you ride?"

It took Loki a moment to realize she was speaking to him. He looked up at her with wide eyes. "My arm—" he managed to say.  

Frigga made a sign in the air with one hand, and her golden seidr flowed along Loki's body. Bones cracked back into place; flesh knitted together. He hissed at the sensation. He tested a bend of his wrist: tender but not the mangled thing it had been.

"That will hold you for now," Frigga said. "Can you ride?"

"Yes," he said. "I can ride."

"Then you ride with us," said the Valkyrie, and pulled at the bridle of a fresh white horse until it stood ready before Loki.

Loki barely had time to get himself in the saddle before the army surged ahead with Frigga leading them. Swords and spears beat against shields in a collective drumbeat. The Valkyrie sang out with one voice as they rode out of the gardens and directly into the palace, their horses racing as if making up for centuries of imprisonment. They were so fast, they seemed to fly. Loki's horse knew its place in the ranks, and he needed little skill to direct it. Hooves clattered upon the flagstones as they charged through the corridors. A few members of the royal guard froze before them, startled at the sight, but the Valkyries cut them down where they stood.

"The Great Hall," Loki called to Frigga over the clatter. "Thor will be there!"

The Queen nodded and turned her horse around a corner, the army following, carving a path through the palace, a flowing stream of justice. Loki, still carrying the sword Bil had given him, clutched it in one hand, his reins in the other, and prepared himself for battle.

He recognized the doors of the Great Hall even at a distance. The previously shining gold was spattered now with blood. Bodies were slumped there, a hodgepodge of soldiers and servants and courtiers. Men and women killed without a chance. Loki looked for Thor but did not see him.

"Bring me Hela!" Frigga roared as she trampled a line of royal guard who dared raise their halberds at her approach. Her magics lashed out as terrible as her sword.

The fighting became a thick fog. It was all a confusion of weapons and horseflesh. Loki slashed with his sword and sent his seidr, weak as it was, spiralling out at the enemy. He might have killed; he couldn't know for sure, and was too preoccupied in finding Thor to care. All around him the Valkyries sang and fought.

The few remaining men in the Great Hall loyal to their cause rallied at the sight. They cried out for their returned Queen and their long-lost shield maidens, and they came at the royal guard with renewed strength. We might yet win, Loki thought.

He rode to a small knot of loyalists, breathing hard.

"The Prince, where is he?" Loki shouted. "Where is Thor?"

One of the Aesir warriors pointed down a corridor, and Loki wasted no time. He dismounted and flung his sword away. His aching arm was a distant throb as he ran; all that mattered was reaching his husband.

"Thor!" The hallway was nothing but silent carnage. Loki picked his way through fallen soldiers, over broken weapons. He saw a trail of blood on the white flagstones leading toward a sort of wide balcony overlooking the city.

A flash of red at the corner of his eye. A shape, unmoving.

"Thor," Loki breathed out, barely forming a sound. He rushed to Thor's side, skidding to a stop on his knees. He grabbed Thor's shoulder with his hand and shook as hard as he dared. There was so much blood. "Thor, can you hear me?"

"Loki?" His gore-crusted eyes fluttered open, then fastened on Loki's face. Recognition flooded in. A low moan of pain rose from Thor's throat. "No, you cannot be here. You're supposed to be safe."

Tears stood in Loki's eyes. "I came back."

"Then I will die for nothing." Thor's eyes squeezed shut as if he could not take the sight.

"You're not dying," Loki said. "Not today."

"I am," Thor choked out. His hand, slick with blood, reached across the flagstones for the archway that led to the balcony. Outside, the cold mist had turned to rain, falling softly on the iron railings. "I wanted to feel it," Thor said, "one last time."

Loki could not deny him this comfort. He took Thor in his arms and dragged him as gently as possible through the archway and into the rain. Once on the balcony, Loki laid him on his back with his head resting in Loki's lap so that the raindrops would fall upon his face.

Thor sighed, his eyes staring upward at the black clouds. Rain mixed with his tears. "Thank you, Crown Prince," he whispered. His breathing grew more ragged.

Loki wept in silence, his whole body shaking. He had to get the words out. He'd fought so hard to get here; why couldn't he just say what he needed to say?

"Thor." He cupped Thor's bearded cheeks in his hands. "Look at me."

Those strange blue eyes—so filled with pain and longing—turned to Loki. "I am sorry," Thor said. "I…."

His eyes slid shut.

"No." Loki sucked in a breath. "No, no, no, no, no. Thor! Wake up." He combed Thor's hair from his bloodied face. "I love you, do you hear me? I love you more than I've ever loved anything, and I'm sorry I said I couldn't, I lied, I always lie. I loved you even when I should have hated you. I don't think I can stop loving you. Please, you have to wake up."

Thor did not rouse. His face remained slack and still. Loki watched it, crying his tears. Was his love not pure enough? Not true enough? Or was he just too late?

"I love you," Loki whispered. "I love you, Thor, please." He leaned down and pressed his trembling lips to Thor's mouth. Their first kiss, rife with the tang of salt and blood. Still Thor did not move. Loki pulled away, searching for signs of life in that beloved face. Nothing.

Loki keened, loud, long, primal, lost. He put his head upon Thor's chest and held onto his Aesir husband, his brute, his beautiful beast. He could hear the clank of armored footsteps approaching, but Loki did not pay them any mind. Let Hela's men come, he thought. At least he would die beside his love here at the end of everything.

And then….

You know what comes then. A miracle.

A rough hand covered Loki's where it clutched at the fastenings of Thor's armor.

Loki picked his head up, mouth open in a gasp. "Thor?"

Thor's eyes were no longer blue. They were white as the purest lightning, crackling with power. There was a distant noise of stone shattering, an explosion of brick, the clang of metal. Thor lifted his hand in the air, and the hammer Mjolnir met it with a smack of his palm.

"Loki," Thor said, the hammer raised above their heads.

Loki kissed him again, not caring about the lightning snaking around Thor's body. It didn't hurt; it felt like flying where it grazed his skin. Thunder-bright. His husband restored, a god once more. They kissed until Loki's mouth was numb with the pleasure of it, until all he knew was the warmth of Thor's lips and the strength of his arm, holding Loki tight.

They broke apart with a sizzle of lightning still connecting their mouths.

"I love you too," Thor said.

"Good." Loki swallowed and wiped away the last of his tears. "That—that's very good. The battle isn't finished, though. Shall we take care of that?"

"It would be my pleasure." Thor rose to his feet, then floated an inch from the ground, borne aloft by the winds of the storm. "But first," he murmured, and laid a hand to Loki's right wrist, where a golden band still entrapped him.

Loki gasped as tingles of lightning flowed over him. The bands at his wrist and ankles shattered and fell in tiny pieces on the flagstones. The gold collar around his neck snapped in two, and Thor tossed it aside. Magic wrapped itself around Loki, his favorite cloak recovered. He looked up at Thor and knew his eyes, too, glowed.

"That feels so much better," he said.

Thor smiled and turned his head to regard the troop of gold-cloaked guardsmen approaching with their spears out. He gestured Loki forward gallantly. "After you."

Loki dispatched half of them easily with a burst of magic, and Thor disposed of the rest with a single strike of his mighty hammer at the ground. More soldiers poured from the Great Hall. As natural as anything, Loki fought back to back with Thor. Their mingled powers—white lightning, green seidr—were to Loki the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"They are retreating from your mother's forces, no doubt," Loki said between bouts. "She's here with the Valkyries. Oh, did I tell you? Valkyries are real."

"I imagine we will have a lot to talk about when we're finished." Thor kicked a guard in the chest and sent him flying over the balcony edge. "By the way, what happened to your arm?"

"Volstagg broke it." Loki kept his injured arm curled close to his chest, directing his magic with his right. "Don't be cross with him; I asked him to."

"A lot to talk about," Thor muttered, swinging his hammer.

"Brother!" Hela's cold voice echoed through the palace. They turned as one to see her, the Mad General, dripping blood as she walked toward them, a blade in each hand. "Really?" she sneered when she saw the hammer in Thor's grip. "All that work—years of planning! And you tarnish my grand moment with this tawdry display?"  

"There is nothing grand in your deeds, sister," Thor boomed. "You dishonor Asgard with what you've done."

"Dishonor Asgard?" Hela's head moved backward on her neck like a crane's. "Don't you understand yet?" She stepped forward, unhurried, her blades scraping against the stone floor. "Death, destruction, suffering—this is what Asgard is all about. If anything, I am celebrating it, dear brother." Her smile flashed white as bone.

"We can be better," Thor said. "We must be. The sins of our country, our father—Hela, we can set it right. Think of what we could do if we atoned for our past mistakes."

Hela's nose wrinkled as if she smelled something foul. "It's only a mistake," she said slowly, "if someone else is allowed to write the histories." Her blades shone slick with rain. "And I do not intend to let any other storytellers live today."  

She struck out at Thor and Loki in tandem, her mystical weapons flying through the air at her command. Thor batted one aside, and Loki dodged with a roll, but a dozen more followed. Thinking quickly, Loki cast one of his favorite illusions, multiplying images of himself and Thor until they surrounded Hela like a phalanx.

"Pathetic little tricks," Hela snarled, and flung a hundred blades in all directions. The illusions dissipated like smoke, and Loki cried out as his very real shoulder was pierced by one of the long, black spears.

"Loki!" Thor reached for him and, in his distraction, gave Hela a chance to slice him across his chest. The wound did not slow him; he raised the hammer Mjolnir to strike.

Hela grabbed the hammer before it could fall upon her head. For a moment, brother and sister stood in a strange tableau, Thor panting with the effort, Hela arresting his every movement.

Loki watched from his sprawl on the ground. He pawed at the blade buried in his shoulder, dread growing as Hela's lips spread into a grin.

"You always did steal my things," she said. "Well, if I can't have it, no one will."

And with her otherworldly strength, she crushed Mjolnir into jagged shards of metal.

"No!" Loki shouted, but still Thor fought, his eyes white and leaking lightning.

For every blow he attempted, Hela dealt him three. Her cruel blades sliced into him again and again, flesh wounds designed to inflict pain but not death. Loki's eyes widened in terror. She was toying with him like a cat amusing itself with a mouse.

Even with his great power, Thor could not defeat her.

Loki struggled to tear the sword from his shoulder. He had to do something, he had to—

"Are you watching, little giant?" Hela called. She picked up Thor by the throat and held him in an iron grip. Her gaze on Loki was as cold as her smile. "I'll show you a real magic trick. Now you see it—" She swung a blade across Thor's face, taking his right eye with it.

Thor screamed. Loki screamed his name.

Hela turned to look at him, her face speckled with blood. "Now you don't."

"You monster," Loki seethed. His seidr flew at her, but a thousand blades blocked the wave of magic and sent it hurtling back into Loki's chest. He staggered backward, then fell to one knee, the air knocked out of him.

Thor twisted in Hela's grip, his empty black eye socket stark on his face. "Loki, go! Run!"

"Go, run," Hela mimicked. "You two make me sick." She threw Thor to the ground. Her fists came down on him as hard as the rain now fell. A soaking of water and blood. "The Prince of Asgard, betting on love to win the day. Look at you!" she crowed in his face as she struck him again and again. "Did you really think _you_ could defeat _me_?"

"No," Thor panted from his bloodied lips. "But she can." His single eye looked past Hela.

Loki followed his gaze to see Frigga standing in the archway, her sword in hand, a dozen Valkyries at the ready behind her.

"No greeting for your mother, Hela?" the Queen asked. "It's been so long."

"You are no mother of mine," Hela snarled. She stood tall, leaving Thor bleeding on the ground. Loki, despite his own injuries, crawled desperately toward him. "You are just another obstacle on my path to two thrones. I have overcome all the rest; you will be no different."

"And what then?" Frigga demanded. "Do you really think two kingdoms will satisfy you? Or will you wage another war, then another, and another—until every realm is naught but death and dust. What will you rule over? Only corpses and empty shells."

"I like corpses." Hela laughed, then fell into a fighting stance. "They don't talk so much."

Blade rang out against blade as the Queen battled the Mad General. It was, according to all later accounts, a match for the ages, but Loki saw barely a glimpse of it. His entire attention was taken up by Thor, whose broken body he took into his arms and protected as best he could.

"You're all right," he whispered as he sent frantic bursts of magic into Thor to heal his many wounds. "I've got you. It's going to be all right."

"It rarely is," Thor breathed, "but I believe you."

Loki couldn't help himself; he kissed that blood-streaked face.

At the balcony's iron railing, Frigga at last succeeded in disarming Hela. Thick seidr banded her powerful arms until she could not move but to struggle. The Valkyrie with the long dark hair caught her by one shoulder, and others moved to hold her in place. Hela howled at her capture, her eyes wild.

"You cannot kill death," she spat at Frigga.

"I do not wish to," said the Queen. "As payment for your crimes, child, I will send you to the world between worlds. There is nothing to fight in that land, no wars to wage. I pray you find some manner of peace there in the grey mists."

Hela's eyes went round with horror. "No! You can't!"

"I can do nothing else." Frigga raised her hand, swirling with seidr. Her eyes were wet with tears. "Goodbye, daughter."

Through some feat of unnatural strength, Hela broke free of her mystic bonds and launched herself, animal-like, at the Queen's throat. The snick of a weapon finding its target echoed across the parapets, and Loki thought for one sickly moment that Frigga had been dealt a mortal blow. But no—it was the Valkyrie who stood flush to Hela's side, her speartip buried in the General's chest.

"Such mercy as you never deserved," the Valkyrie hissed into Hela's ear. She pulled her spear free with a wet sound, and Hela fell to the rain-battered flagstones, dead.

Loki breathed hard through his open mouth, hardly trusting his eyes. He clutched at Thor and held him close.

"Is it over?" Thor murmured. "Have we won?"

"Yes," Loki said through his tears, "it's over."

"Good." Thor's eye fluttered. "I think I'm going to sleep for a bit now."

"That's just fine." Loki thumbed some blood from Thor's mouth and kissed him. "I'll be here when you wake."

"I know," Thor said softly. His voice was fading, but still he smiled. "You love me, after all."

As he watched Thor fall unconscious, Loki's answering smile melted away. The rain fell harder. His arms tightened around Thor. He loved this brute, yes, and knew he was loved in return. That in itself was worthy of song. But it did not mean things would be simple.

They were both rightful kings now, destined for thrones on opposite sides of the map. On opposing sides of a long-fought war.

And as I told you at the very beginning, this story is a sad one.

Did you listen?


	16. Chapter 16

Thor woke with the sunrise. 

His remaining eye opened blue and clear, light playing on long lashes. 

"Loki?"

Loki's hand moved to cover Thor's where it rested against his bedsheets. Thor's gaze found him, a breath of relief leaving his broad frame. Loki sat still and quiet in the chair at Thor's bedside as he had for the last several hours. He had spent the time deep in thought and even now was loathe to break the silence that had blanketed the room. 

Thor seemed to sense his mood and spoke no more, only looked at him, his eye roving over his face, his loose dark robe, his arm in its white sling. Those rough fingers gripped Loki's tight, warm. 

Loki took his time gazing at Thor as well. A swath of white bandages concealed the pit of his missing eye. His face and bare body had been washed of blood, but signs of his many injuries lingered. Magic would heal most of them, they only needed time, but the eye was gone forever, Loki knew. He'd made every attempt to restore it while Thor slept, but even his great skill could not make him whole. It did not matter—Thor's furred, coarse face was still a cherished sight in Loki's own eyes. 

He looked his fill and then rose from his chair. Slipping free of his sling, he gingerly moved atop Thor's prone form. Thor hastened to pull aside the bedsheets so nothing would remain between them. Loki settled himself astride Thor's hips, his robe flowing over them both. He wore nothing underneath, and Thor gasped at the feeling of their bare skin finally meeting, hidden from view. 

Thor met Loki's eyes, a question painted on his face. His lips parted as Loki's intense stare gave him his answer. 

"Are you—?" 

Loki bent low to kiss him into silence. His long black hair draped around Thor's head, curtaining them off from the world. He reached beneath the hem of his robe and found Thor's cock straining up to meet him. Just a small adjustment, bodies aligned, and Thor slipped easily into his purse. Twin gasps from lips a hairsbreadth apart.

Despite having never been taken, Loki felt no pain. He was plush with slickness, had been for long hours while he watched Thor slumber, imagining how it would feel to finally have Thor inside. Loki took a shaky breath; Thor shut his eye and tipped his head back in a rictus of pleasure. The sight made Loki sit tall, feeling the length of that strange cockstand filling him completely. He was a novice at lovemaking, yes, but he was determined. His hips rolled and a moan fell from his tongue as Thor moved impossibly deeper. 

Thor's hands went to Loki's waist, a gentle guidance encouraging him to move again and again. Like an absolute wanton, Loki rode Thor's thick cock, mouth open and panting, red eyes hazy with bliss. 

"Beautiful," Thor breathed. His thumbs traveled along the whorls of Loki's heritage lines at his hipbones. "So beautiful." 

This time, Loki did not protest the appellation. 

They rocked together until Thor's patience came fraying apart and he hauled Loki beneath him, flipping their positions in a show of power that made Loki cry out. 

"Careful." His hands flew to Thor's broad shoulders, tracing the line of a healing wound. "Your injuries—" 

"They cannot pain me now," Thor growled. He kissed Loki the way Loki had dreamt of: claiming, ravenous, desperate. Loki clung to him and returned his kiss as Thor thrust into him over and over. His legs wrapped around Thor's snapping hips and Thor, groaning in approval, hitched his thighs even higher so that he was held wide open for Thor's cock. His big hand enveloped Loki's bobbing staff and stroked without mercy.

"Loki—" Thor's eye was wide with wonder, his mouth hot and wet against Loki's. A strand of his yellow hair caught on Loki's lips. "I'm—" 

"Inside me," Loki panted. "All inside." 

"But you might—"

"I know." He'd had hours to consider it, after all. Loki took Thor's face in his hands and kissed him deeply. His injured arm, his shoulder, all his hundreds of hurts—he felt none of them now at the cusp of his peak. He felt nothing but Thor. He spurted in Thor's hand, his body singing out. 

Thor flooded him with seed, a prolonged animal cry leaving him with each thick pulse. Loki shuddered to feel himself so filled. It seemed to have no end, and Thor continued to pump him full of cock until rivulets of spend leaked out around his length and dripped down the insides of Loki's shaking thighs. 

They stared at each other, sharing gasping breaths, sweating and close in the morning light. After a time, Thor's softened cock slipped free from Loki's purse, a gush of seed following. Loki whimpered at the loss and reached between his legs to try to stem the flow. 

"Let me," Thor murmured, and collected the seed on his thick fingertips, pushing it back inside Loki's body. 

Their gazes met, a heavy look fraught with emotion. They did not speak of it. They did not need to. Loki would need an heir once he was king, and no one else fit him as Thor did. 

They at last arranged themselves for rest. Loki laid his head over Thor's heart and listened to it slow. The sun rose higher in the sky outside the window. Not that long ago, Loki had cursed another morning in this very bed. He wished this one could be stopped somehow, bottled up, never to grow into an afternoon. Tears formed in his eyes. It wasn't fair; there wasn't enough time. 

Thor was the one to brave the words that needed to be said. His arm around Loki tightened. "When do you have to leave?"

"Soon," came the strangled answer. "Tomorrow at the latest. My sire's body must be taken home for funeral rites. And I must present myself for my coronation." He nuzzled closer to Thor, trying to capture his scent in his memory. "I can't stay away much longer. My people need their king." He swallowed. "Just as Asgard needs hers." 

Thor's breath left his body all at once. His hand came up to cradle the back of Loki's head. "We won, yet I feel this fate is more cruel than if we'd lost," he whispered. "How can I have you at last only to lose you? I won't be able to bear it."

"Yes you will," Loki said sharply. He picked up his head and fixed Thor with his crimson stare. These thoughts had haunted him during those long, lonely hours that he'd spent watching Thor sleep and heal. "There is too much at stake. Too much work to be done. Whole kingdoms to rebuild and remake. We will just have to carry on." He hesitated, then attempted to inject some cheer into his voice. "It's not as if we will be strangers. You will see me often, at least—"

"Yes, at least at the negotiating table," Thor finished miserably. 

Loki subsided; restitutions would be their only topic of conversation for quite awhile, he suspected. He did not relish the thought.

Thor enfolded Loki in his powerful arms and held him close. His words were thick with sobs. "Will I even be able to touch you? To kiss you? When will I again have the chance to tell you I love you, Loki?" 

"I don't know." Loki shut his eyes, weeping his own quiet tears. "I'm sorry. I just don't know."

"And this?" Thor caressed Loki's belly with trembling fingers. He hadn't looked this fearful when Hela had had him by the throat. "If you bear our child, will I ever be allowed to—?" 

Anguish overcame Loki then, and he surged up to kiss Thor before he could give voice to the awful truth. They moved together, tangled in sheets and robe, heartbroken though they shared a heart. Thor slipped inside him again, easier this time, and Loki welcomed him. They had to be sure; Loki's line had to continue.

It was past midday when they finally left their bed. They dressed slowly and without speaking, Loki in his customary black, Thor replacing his usual cloak with one of somber midnight blue. When Thor picked the sling off the floor with a question in his eyes, Loki shook his head; his arm was mostly healed and wouldn't need it any longer. When Thor removed his bandages and applied a new eyepatch over his injury—plain black leather, no gems or gold—Loki helped fit it into the curves of Thor's face.   

"Ready?" he asked once there was nothing else to do. 

Thor shook his head. "I wish—" he began, then gave a heavy sigh. "No. It does us no good to salt our wounds. Let us go." 

Loki folded their hands together between them. Brothers at prayer. 

"I love you, Prince of Asgard," he said. "Will you remember that when you are king?" 

"I could not forget it," Thor whispered, "any more than I could stop loving you."

They shared a kiss, slow and too-short, then went together to the pyres. 

Unlike the Jotun who bury their dead in crypts of ice, the Aesir conduct funeral rites with fire and water. Loki saw the bodies of those who had fallen in the battle laid out at the ocean's edge in long rows, each wrapped in a white shroud. He tried to count them all but failed. 

"Hela and her royal guard as well?" he whispered to Thor. 

"No," said Thor. "Only the honored dead." He did not detail the fate of their enemies' remains, and Loki did not ask. He found he did not much care. 

So many bodies awaited their turn on the massive funeral pyres that had been built on the beach, but one shrouded corpse was set apart. Odin lay in the belly of a longship, his face uncovered but his neck mercifully hidden beneath the sheet. Thor inhaled sharply as they approached, their boots making soft noises in the sand. 

"Wait for me here," Thor murmured. 

Loki watched from the shore as Thor joined several others at the stern of the longship where it lay wedged on the beach. He recognized Volstagg's girth, a few of the Valkyries, the steady shape of Heimdall carrying a torch. Together, they all pushed the ship into the surf, walking into the ocean up to their waists. Heimdall tossed his torch into the prow, leaving the ship to burn and slip away. The walkers came struggling back toward shore in a slow stream, lit by the growing flames behind them.

"I always thought this custom strange," a quiet voice said at Loki's side. "In Vanaheim we buried our dead in the ground. It takes all kinds, I suppose."

Loki turned to find Queen Frigga wearing a veil of dark blue gossamer, little gold flecks sewn into it like stars in the night sky. "My lady," he said, "allow me to offer my condolences on this sad day."

She waved a hand through the air. Her eyes did not leave the burning ship out in the waves. "I do not expect you to muster any great sorrow for the Allfather's death. When I think of what you and your people have endured, it is a wonder you're here at all." 

Loki tipped his head and looked back out over the ocean. "I come out of respect for you, my lady."

"And love for my son?" she asked.

"Yes," Loki replied. "And love for your son."

Together they watched as Thor came dripping out of the surf, his hands wiping the spray from his face—or perhaps it was tears. 

"I am furious, you know," Frigga said, though she sounded as if she was merely commenting on the weather. 

Loki looked at her quickly. Had he offended her with such bold declarations? 

"At Odin," she clarified. "My husband thought me dead all these years, and what did he do? He shattered. Allowed his kingdom to fall into ruins. Ushered untold horrors into your homeworld, then pulled dust sheets over it all." She swallowed, her blue eyes tracking the ship's progress toward the horizon. A single tear fell down her cheek. "Now he leaves me here alone, and I do not have the luxury of falling apart. I hate him for it." 

"I am so sorry," Loki breathed. There was an honesty to it that had been absent from his earlier niceties. He understood the Queen's grief in a way that few could. Soon he too would be bereft of Thor with no choice but to go on without him. Tears pricked his eyes and he looked away, ashamed of his weakness and his selfish nature both; he wasn't the one burying his husband today. 

Thor was upon them then, and Loki tamped down on his feelings at the sight of Thor's pinched, red face. He had to be strong now for his sake. Loki held his arms open for an embrace, feeling Thor collapse against him, face hot on his neck. He dared stroke a hand through Thor's wild yellow hair, comfort and desperation. Then Thor went to his mother and hugged her tight, and Loki, sensing that this was a moment for family, drifted away to give them some privacy. 

He nearly walked into Heimdall, so focused was he on staring down at the sand. It was only the man's strong hands that kept them from colliding.

"Oh!" Loki looked up into Heimdall's face. Strange golden eyes stared back at him. Gone were the clouds of white. "Heimdall, you're—"  

"I pictured you differently," said Heimdall with a small smile. "A little less skinny, perhaps."

Loki blinked. "But how—?"

"The Queen felt it only just to undo the magics that kept me blind. My sight is restored. My second sight as well."

Loki clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm glad, truly."

Heimdall's smile gave way to a concerned frown. "I see your homeland in a state of great turmoil, Crown Prince. When Laufey did not send word back to Jotunstad yesterday as planned, your countless uncles and brothers began to fret and fight amongst themselves, wondering what they shall do and who shall decide. You are needed so desperately." His eerie eyes flicked down the beach to Thor, still in conference with his mother. "Does he...understand?"

"Yes." Loki swallowed thickly. "He knows I leave on the morrow."

The Prince's man dropped his gaze. "Forgive me; I never intended to inflict such pain. For either of you." His eyes rose and found the tall shape of Frigga in the distance. "For anyone."

Loki did not possess Heimdall's powers, but even he could see the pain in that look, could parse its meaning. It was like looking into a mirror. He whipped his head around to stare at the stately Queen, then back at Heimdall.

Had she seen it too? Or was she, like Loki had been for so long, blind to such devotion?

There was no time to press for answers. The low crunch of sand announced Thor's arrival with Frigga on his arm. "Will you take the evening meal with us?" he asked Loki. "It seems my mother hasn't eaten all day." 

Loki did not dare point out that neither had Thor. "Of course," he said. Another stolen moment at Thor's side before he faced a lifetime without him. Belatedly remembering his manners, he turned to Frigga. "I am honored by your invitation."

She gave him a watery smile, then called to Heimdall, who was already stepping back. "You too, Heimdall. I know for a fact you haven't stopped to rest since yesterday."

"My Queen, there is just so much to do," Heimdall said.

"Yes, chief among them being supper," she countered. "Let the others take over for a moment. I can make it an order if that helps."

With a grudging sigh, Heimdall went to impart instructions to the warriors who were tending to the pyres before joining the three of them on the long walk back to the palace. 

The meal was served in a room Loki had never seen before, smaller than the Allfather's dining hall, containing just a simple rough table set with plain dishes. Frigga nodded to the serving boy who pulled out her chair at the head of the table, gesturing for everyone to sit. Loki marveled to find his own wooden fork and knife waiting for him beside a place setting. He inspected them closely to be sure; yes, there was the little flaw in the tines that he loved so well. 

"Thor carved these for me," he said to Heimdall as the man took a seat at the foot of the table.

"I know," he said. "I hope you don't mind; I took the liberty of having them brought from your old room. The maids have orders to pack up your things in preparation for your journey, but I thought it would be nice for you to have these for your last dinner in Asgard. I can have them packed away once we're done eating, if you wish."

Loki swallowed, rubbing his fingertips over the fork's points. "Thank you, yes. Could you make sure they also include the figure of the golden horse in my baggage?" He looked across the table where Thor sat, his face drawn in sorrow. "It will remind me of our riding lessons."

Thor opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it and looked away.

"Of course," Frigga answered brightly. She waved a hand at the modest feast. "Now please, everyone, eat."

It was a sorry dinner party indeed. The food was a mixture of Asgardian meats and lighter Jotun dishes and very good, not that it mattered. All four pushed it about their plates, either with fingers or forks. Conversation faltered and died. Every time Loki thought to contribute something—anything, really, to fill the damned silence—he looked up to find Thor staring back at him as if trying to memorize the shape of his face. Loki's heart broke anew with each glance, and he lapsed into quiet again. He could barely taste his meal, knowing it was likely the last chance he'd have to sit at a table with Thor as anything other than a rival king. Thor, for his part, ate little and waved away the serving boy when he tried to fill his cup with wine.

"Loki," Frigga finally said as she used her own silver utensils to carve her food into smaller and smaller pieces, "Thor tells me you plan to leave us tomorrow."

"Yes, my lady." He couldn't help glancing to Thor again, though the painful look they shared was enough to make him drop his eyes back to his untouched dinner. "Early, I think. Before the morning meal."

Thor's mouth twisted. "So soon?"

Loki shut his eyes tight. What had happened to not salting wounds? "It would be best." He looked up. "Don't you agree?"

"Well." Thor swallowed. "I suppose we should undo our handfasting before you go." 

"Oh." Loki sat back in his chair. He hadn't thought of that; as Asgard's new king, Thor would take a new consort, and he would need to be free to do so. "Yes, of course. What does your law demand? Is there some ceremony we must do to...reverse it?" 

"Nothing so complicated." Thor shaded his brow as if in thought, hiding his face as he looked down. "We cut the cord in twain, say a few words, sign our names to a declaration. It does not require more than one witness. It could be done in minutes."

"Minutes," Loki said faintly. A small noise, like a strangled cry, lodged in his throat. "That's— That's good. Isn't it?"

"Yes," Thor agreed in a rough voice. "Very."

The Queen tossed her silver fork and knife to her plate with a loud clatter. Thor and Loki startled in their seats at the sound. 

"What is the matter with you two?" she cried. "I've never heard such abject misery! And at the dinner table!"

"Apologies, Mother," Thor began. "It's only—"

"It's only that you're being an absolute idiot," Frigga said. "And I say that with complete maternal fondness, mind. If you're so unhappy about the Crown Prince leaving, why do you not find a solution? You've just saved two kingdoms from complete destruction—albeit with my help, of course; surely you can figure out a way forward here."

"I wish we could, but Loki cannot stay," Thor said, his eye meeting Loki's across the table. "Jotunheim needs a leader, a great one, and that is what he will be."

Loki clenched his hands in his lap. "Thor, I do not  _ want _ to leave—" 

"I know," Thor said, "but you were brought here by force; I will not keep you here with begging. To do so would be to shackle you to me, and I would rather die than imprison you at my side when your throne awaits you in the land of your birth."

Tears gathered in red eyes. Loki cleared his throat. "It is true, I must return to Jotunheim and wear the crown. My brothers and uncles already clamber for the bits of power they might claim in my absence. So you see, my lady," he said in a small voice, "a solution is not possible."

The Queen rested her chin in her hand, her eyes unimpressed slits. "Who said anything about you staying, Loki the Strong?" she drawled. 

Loki frowned. "I don't follow."

But across the table, Thor's mouth fell open. "Mother?"

"My Queen," Heimdall spoke up, "surely you don't mean…?"

"Why not?" Frigga popped a piece of honeycake into her mouth and chewed. "It's something to think about."

"What is?" Loki demanded.

Thor's eye went wide, then shone across at Loki with radiant hope. "What if I came with you to Jotunheim?"

"Came with me?" Loki's mind ground to a halt. Had all of Asgard gone mad? What could they be thinking?

Thor's thoughts, too, seemed to be catching up to reality. His face fell as he turned to the head of the table. "But Mother, I am next in line for our throne. Who will rule Asgard if I were to leave? There are no others."

"What am I, then?" Frigga laughed. "Liver mince?"

"But— You?" Thor blinked. 

"There is precedent in our law, dear son, for the Queen Regent to sit upon the throne until the next heir is born," she said with gentle teasing. "The line of succession would merely skip over you. And I think you'll find me a fair ruler, quite aligned with your plans for peace." She said this last part to Loki. 

"Mother, I could not ask you to shoulder such a burden alone," Thor said. 

"I wouldn't be alone." Frigga tipped her chin down the table at Heimdall. "I would have my most trusted friend as an advisor, would I not?"

Heimdall, for all his powers, had not seen this coming. He sat up tall in his chair, confusion painted on his handsome face. "My Queen?" 

"That is, unless you'd rather take up your old post as Watcher of the Bifrost," Frigga said. "In my opinion, though, a rise in rank is in order." Her eyes twinkled as she watched him, and Loki looked quickly to Heimdall. Did  _ he _ know? 

"It would be my honor," Heimdall said, and stood as if to bow. 

"No, no, none of that." The Queen stopped him with a gesture. "After all you've done, Heimdall, you need bow no longer." 

They both smiled, knowing each other so well that they needed no more words.

"Wait, I'm sorry," Loki said, breaking into the happy scene. He stared at Thor. "Are you really considering this? You would refuse your throne to come with me? That would be—well, the height of insanity."

"Would you have me?" Thor asked. 

Loki's mouth worked, struggling to form words. "The scandal," he managed, "it would be enormous."

Thor rose out of his chair. "Would you have me?" he repeated. 

"You would be ripped away from everything you knew! You would be stared at, whispered about. You would be mistrusted at best, the lone Aesir in a land too cold for your blood."

"But would you have me?" Thor insisted. 

Loki was already getting to his feet. His mouth was open, his eyes were shining. "I would," he breathed. "In a heartbeat."

The table was suddenly much too wide. They ran around it to meet each other behind Frigga's seat and share an embrace. Loki's face pressed into Thor's strong neck, his eyes damp, and he clung and laughed and cried and lived a lifetime there in the warmth of Thor's arms. 

"I will be your helpmate, then," Thor said into his ear. "If you desire others, I will not be jealous. I know it is your custom, and I love you too much to ask you to bend to mine." 

"You stupid brute," Loki whispered. "I don't foresee finding anyone else who fits me so perfectly. Besides," he pulled away just enough to waggle his head mockingly, "a handfasting should mean something." 

Thor laughed, short and surprised. Elated beyond measure. "How soon can we make it official in the eyes of your law?"

"There is no ceremony; we need only agree between the two of us, and when I present you at court, I will name you my helpmate." Loki smiled wide. "Oh, they will be so shocked. I cannot wait to see their faces." 

"So we are agreed? It is done?" Loki nodded, and Thor's lips descended on his mouth. Sweet as honey, and slow as it too. When Thor pulled away, a grin took over his face. "This is madness. This is perfect. Nothing could make me happier. Only—" His face fell. "Oh. Oh, no."

Loki clutched at his somber cloak. "What is it?"

"I nearly forgot," Thor murmured. His gaze tracked down Loki's body to rest on his belly. "Both our kingdoms need heirs. If our firstborn was a son, Asgard would want him for her throne as would Jotunheim." His single eye crinkled in its grief. "How could we put our child in such an impossible position? I could not bear it."

At the foot of the table, Heimdall clicked his tongue as if realizing the enormity of the problem, and cursing their bad luck. 

Loki froze, but his thoughts whirled. "That will not happen," he said.

"How do you know?" Thor asked. 

"Because our firstborn will not be a son." He grabbed Thor's rough hand and brought it to his flat stomach. "He will be shaped as I am. He will have your eyes and my curious mind, and he will be called Crown Prince by my people."

The breath caught in Thor's throat. "He will?"

Loki nodded, licked his lips. "Our second-born will be a son. He will take after me in some ways, but he will have your hair, and he will claim the throne in Asgard when he comes of age." 

Tears stood in Thor's remaining eye. "Our son," he said. 

Loki smiled. "And our daughter—" 

"There's more?" Thor lit up in delight. A tendril of lighting chased its way down his arm. 

"Yes," Loki said, caressing his face. "Our daughter will come last, but she will be the greatest of us all. Our love will make her strong, and she will want for nothing. All the realms will be under her protection, and they will worship her as a Goddess." The words tripped off his tongue as if they came from a dream, but Loki felt the truth of them in his skin, where Thor's lightning played.

"How do you know this?" Thor asked. "Is it just a hope?"

"No," said Frigga, standing now too. Loki and Thor jolted at her voice, having nearly forgotten their audience. "Loki speaks true. When we first met, it was through dreams. I have always had the power of prophetic dreams, and I imagine that power was shared between us. I have no doubt that what he said will come to pass."

Thor turned to Loki, the full force of his giddy happiness writ across his face. "And you want this future you see? With me, with our children?"

"I want nothing more." Loki cupped his bearded cheeks. "And you? You are willing to live with me in Jotunheim? It will not be easy; my kingdom does not have Asgard's comforts nor your friends."

"You cannot frighten me away, Jotun," Thor growled, kissing his palm. "I have made my choice."

"You'll come visit, of course?" Frigga clasped her hands before her. "Perhaps during the winter feast days. Something apart from our dreary talks of troop withdrawals and trade agreements." 

"You can bring your gaggle of children," Heimdall said, raising an eyebrow. "I'll dandle them on my knee and tell them the story of how their parents found one another."

"Don't you dare!" Loki laughed. "The tale is not fit for children, and if anyone is to tell it at all, it should be me."

Thor bussed him on the cheek. "Loki is an excellent storyteller. Ask him about the tale of the quivering lump of flesh sometime; it almost certainly won my heart."

"Oh, shut up." Loki pushed his brutish head away, grinning. He caught a glimpse of Frigga's face, smiling at their antics, but eyes sad all the same. Loki sobered, pulling Thor closer to his side. "My lady, forgive me. This is supposed to be a solemn occasion, I know—"

"The day is improved for it," Frigga said. She wiped away a tear. "Let us take heart in what goodness we have found. Go. You should prepare for your journey."

Thor tugged at his arm, eager to be away. "You must meet us at the Bifrost to wish us farewell tomorrow, Mother. And you too, Heimdall."

"Go." Heimdall shooed them with his fingers. "Until tomorrow."

Loki pulled Thor from the room and down the hall, their breathless sounds of mirth echoing all around them. Unable to wait for the privacy of a room, they tumbled into a shallow alcove and found each other's lips, hands searching over tunics. 

"I love you," Thor said against the heritage marks on Loki's brow. 

"And I love you," Loki answered into Thor's neck. 

Isn't it awful? Truly. A Prince taken from his home, his throne snatched from his grasp. Nevermind that he never really wanted to be a king; it is still a sad, sad story, is it not? 

Loki laughed as Thor's fingers found his laces. "Clever brute," he hissed. 

Oh, and the little giant of Jotunheim, now bearing the weight of the crown of wood and bone. How terrible for Loki the Small—no, Loki the Strong as he would be introduced at court. Such a burden for so tiny a creature! 

"Your brute will need you to keep him warm during those freezing Jotun nights." Thor's voice was a growl in Loki's ear. His hand dipped into Loki's breeches. "Think of all the ways we might curl up together—I still have not had your other hole, and you have yet to have mine. Which would you prefer, I wonder?" 

Such uncouth language! And directed at a future king! Horrors upon horrors, really.

"Let's try them all," Loki panted, "just to be sure." 

Thor's face, with its brilliant blue eye fixed on Loki, softened in love. 

An actual tragedy. Best look away.

You were warned, after all.

The next morning dawned quiet and still. A small farewell party gathered on the rainbow bridge to bid farewell to their Prince and his Jotun husband. The huge body of Laufey waited in a burial shroud on a litter carried by two dozen Valkyries. The remains of the other Jotun dead would follow; Loki knew it would be many weeks before all was settled after the bloody battle. 

He pulled his new fur cloak about him, thick and black, made of Asgardian wolf pelts. Thor stood at his side as they received their well wishes, similarly outfitted for the harsh cold though his cloak remained a slash of red. They embraced and shook hands with friends and allies alike unlike at last Heimdall nodded toward the entrance of the Bifrost. 

"It's time," he said. 

They made their way inside, the litter moving slowly far behind them. They were escorted only by the Queen and Heimdall now, and those two hung back a bit, allowing Loki and Thor some little privacy before they began their journey in earnest. 

Loki sighed as he reached for Thor's yellow locks. His fingers barely had anything to grab hold of now; the shorn hair, a warrior's cut, had been Thor's decision. Loki mourned the long, loose strands of gold, but—

"I admit it suits you," he murmured. 

Thor tipped his head to better allow Loki to comb his hand through his short hair. It was a bit ragged; the Aesir were not adept at hair-cutting, so rarely did they do it. "I only hope your fellow Jotun understand it as a sign of respect on my part," he said.

"They will." Loki's hand fell to Thor's cheek. He would make sure of it.

"Are you sure you will not cut yours?" Thor asked. "No one can say you're not a warrior now, not after what you've done."

Loki hummed and dragged his fingers through his black hair, longer then it had ever been after so much time away from the Jotunstad hair-cutters. "I do not need to be seen as a warrior anymore," he said. "I am a mage, the strongest of my people. That is enough."

"More than enough," Thor agreed, and squeezed his hand tight. 

A quiet strength weaved itself through Loki, making him stand a little taller beside Thor. His Aesir husband, now helpmate. His beast of Asgard. His thunderer, his beloved, the sire of his future children. 

They came to a dais and stepped onto it, coming to a stop in the middle of the sphere chamber. 

Loki stared straight ahead and squeezed Thor's hand in return. "Could you switch it on?" he asked. "I want our arrival to be...noteworthy." 

Thor's laugh was soft, for Loki's ear alone. "If it pleases you." White lightning filled his eye and leaked from beneath the edge of his eyepatch. Sparks teased Loki's skin where they brushed together, tingling through their clothes. 

It pleased Loki very much. He called upon his seidr, fashioning his own glowing aura. They were ready for the great court of Jotunstad, where Loki had danced before he could walk. 

"Farewell, my son," called the Queen. "And farewell to you, Loki!"

At her signal, Heimdall slid a broadsword into some clever device. Lights of a thousand colors danced before Loki's eyes, a doorway to his homeworld. He felt the weight of his responsibility bearing down upon him. So much depended on his success: his entire race, their whole future. It would not be easy. There would be those who would scoff at having a runt for a king. There would be those who would never accept an Aesir as the sole royal helpmate. Treason would lurk around every corner. A battle fought entirely uphill.

Let them come, Loki thought as he stood before the rainbow doorway. They would not stop him. Nothing would. 

"Stay close to me," he said to Thor. 

"Always," Thor answered. 

They stepped into the light. Hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who came along on this journey. Your comments and messages are the high point of my day. I always look forward to hearing from you! 
> 
> I'm on [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/triedunture) and [tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/post/179652981202/the-crown-prince-and-the-beast-triedunture) (you can reblog from that link if you'd like to rec!) 
> 
> If you liked this fic, please check out [Vows from a Dagger](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13185411/chapters/30159414), which is another long thorki epic, and stay tuned for my Big Bang coming Nov. 4 : ) 
> 
> Much love.


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